


As Human as the Rest of Us

by SerendipitousDreams



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Murder Mystery, POV Alternating, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Serial Killers, Slow Burn, millenial Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-08-20 18:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16561181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerendipitousDreams/pseuds/SerendipitousDreams
Summary: Post-revolution, everything seems to have settled into an alternate version of normal. Androids and humans share most of the same rights. Both get jobs, both get homes, and both get murdered. A serial killer has popped up in Detroit, targeting both humans and androids.





	1. April 5, 2039

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my boyfriend, who helped drag me into this hell.
> 
> He is also arguably the reason why this is the most effort I've ever put into writing a fanfic in my life. I've done so much research. I've never set foot in Michigan, let alone Detroit, but I'm pretty sure I know more about that city than David Cage ever will.

"Anderson! Connor! You're up!" Captain Fowler yelled from his office doorway.

 

Hank grumbles as the alert pops up on his workstation. He quickly reads over the call notes as he grabs his keys. A body found in the park, white, male, young, suspected foul play. Human. That made Hank raise an eyebrow. He wasn't officially in charge of all android-related homicides anymore, but there seemed to be an unspoken rule that he was The Guy when there was a android on the ground or holding the gun. But, every so often, when there was a lull between android cases, he got a human. A good, old-fashioned, bloody human homicide.

 

Hank looked up at his partner. Connor was, unsurprisingly, already standing; patiently waiting for Hank to join him. It’d only been a few weeks since androids were approved to go back to working--the wheels of American legislation always turned at a snail’s pace--and Connor was still eager to finally get back to investigation. He’d been made for it, after all.

 

He stood there, trying not to look impatient in a perfectly pressed navy suit. After months of Hank complaining about him wearing the same clothes every day, he had finally bought and tailored some suits of his own. They were hardly different from the uniform Cyberlife set him up with, but something about the fact that Connor had chosen them himself made him look more human, despite the LED ring still glimmering on his temple.

 

"Alright, then." Hank grumbled, "We better get a move on."

* * *

 

The raucous sounds of Hank's heavy metal playlist filled the car as he drove through the increasingly dilapidated streets of the poorer side of Detroit. Sagging porches and cracked sidewalks lined each side of the street. Hank sighed. He knew as soon as he saw the address of the park that the lull in android-related homicides wasn't the only reason why he and Connor were assigned to this case. Despite Hank’s downward spiral over the past several years, he and Connor had proven to be some of the best homicide detectives on the force. And here was the body of a white kid in one of the poorer areas of Detroit. He was more than old enough to know that despite all the technological advances, a city doesn't change much in 20 years. Not in any way that really counts.

 

The park was run down, more wilderness than maintained space, with a few walking paths worn into the grass and dilapidated and overgrown sign saying ZA  H ELL P K.

 

Hank noticed Connor's Led flicker yellow as he analyzed the sign.

 

"Eliza Howell Park." Connor mused, "The land was given to the city for a park in 1936. The city stopped mowing it in 2009 to save money, and since then, it has become an unofficial nature preserve."

 

Hank looked out at the mess of trees and underbrush with a scowl. "And also the perfect place to dump a body unnoticed." He patted Connor on the shoulder and headed towards the cordoned-off crime scene. "Thanks, Wikipedia."

 

Connor frowned, following closely. "Wikipedia is a openly-editable website, making it a questionable source. My information comes from primary sources within the city's digitized archives."

 

Honestly, Hank was hardly listening, already taking in the crime scene. Though he did quietly enjoy the fact that he could still get a rise out of Connor despite the amount of time they spent together.

 

A few spectators stood by the edge of the scene. Most likely, they were trying to get a peek of the body. The victim had yet to be ID'd, so it was unlikely they were friends or relatives. And humans were morbid like that. There was only a single reporter, leaning against a tree in boredom. Murders in this part of town rarely got more than a few paragraphs. He wondered how much that would change once this guy was ID’d. Connor was already wandering off, scanning and analyzing details that Hank couldn't see.

 

A frazzled-looking young woman wearing a police uniform stood to one side. She must have been a recent graduate from the academy. From the look of it, she may have been starting to regret her decision.

 

"You the first officer?" Hank asked, trying not to be too harsh.

 

"Y-yeah." the woman--Ella, her name tag read--nodded emphatically. "I called it in right away. I didn't touch anything."

 

"You found the body?"

 

"No," She pointed to a teenager sitting on a bench nearby, a jug-headed dog at his feet. "He was walking his dog when he came across it... The body... and called 911."

 

Hank jotted down a few notes, getting Ella's badge number as well as the time she arrived. He knew Connor had easy access to all of that information, but old habits die hard. It was easier for him to go back and reference his own notes rather than asking Connor a dozen questions, anyway. He turned from Ella toward the teenage witness sitting nearby. Connor was already approaching him.

 

The android crouched in front of the kid, offering the dog his hand. "What's your dog's name?" he asked.

 

The kid looked surprised at the question, eyeing the flickering LED on Connor's temple. "...Tito..." He replied.

 

Connor smiled as he patted Tito's head. "I like dogs."

 

He sounded much more sincere than when Hank first met him. It took Hank's mind away from the investigation for a brief moment. Connor really had come a long way in the past couple of years. He still acted much more... robotic than even most androids, but at this point it was more a personality quirk than a reminder of his manufactured origins.

 

"And your name?" Connor asked, looking up at the kid.

 

"Vince." The kid responded, eyes flicking to Hank as he approached. Hank stopped where he was, opting to stand back and let Connor take care of interviewing the witness. Connor's freckles and doe-eyes were designed to gain people's trust, whereas Hank looked like exactly what he was--a grumpy old man.

 

Connor brought the teen's attention back to him, now scratching absently behind Tito's ears. The dog leaned into his touch. "Nice to meet you, Vince. I'm Connor. If it's okay with you, I was hoping you would be able to tell me what happened here."

 

Vince looked up and over at where Ella was, and where the body lay beyond that. "I... I was gonna go play basketball with some friends, but they bailed... So I decided to take Tito for a walk, I figured I could play with him in the park, ya know? It’s spring break so I ain't got nothing better to do..."

 

Connor waited patiently as the kid avoided getting to the point, continuing to pet Tito while Vince struggled. "So... I get here, and then, Tito gets all excited. I thought he was after a squirrel or some shit."

 

Vince focuses his gaze from the trees to Connor, wide-eyed. "I-I didn't know what it was at first. I ain't ever seen a body before. I promise I didn't touch nothing. I just called the police."

 

"I believe you." Connor said with a comforting nod. "Did you recognize him?"

 

Vince shook his head. "I mean, I didn't get a very good look at him, I ran as soon as I realized what it was. But I don't think so."

 

Connor smiled gently and stood, giving Tito a final pat on the head. "Thanks for your help. Do you need a ride home?"

 

"Don't you need me to, like, come down to the station with you or something?" The kid asked.

 

"I don't think so." Connor replied, "But we'll be in contact if we need anything from you, and of course, you can call us if you remember anything you think is important."

 

Connor handed him a card, then moved to join Hank where he was standing a few feet away. "It is highly unlikely that he is related to the crime beyond the discovery of the body. He showed no signs of lying throughout the interview." He said.

 

"I figured. He seems like a good kid." Hank shook his head. He thought of all the times in his life marked by bodies. The first time he was responding officer to a scene with a body, his first homicide case, his mother’s funeral, the car accident with Cole. "He'll never forget this." He said, more to himself than Connor. "No matter what else happens, this will always be the summer he found a dead body."

 

Connor glanced back at Vince, who was now crouched next to Tito, stroking the dog in a search for comfort. "I understand it must be quite a traumatic experience, especially for someone so young."

 

His LED flickered yellow for a split second, making Hank wonder if he was remembering all the bodies he's seen in the few years since he was activated. He was designed to investigate homicides, but Hank couldn't help but wonder if all those bodies took on a different meaning in the light of deviancy. Androids were becoming more and more human, both in the eyes of the law and in sentience, but it was hard to tell exactly what that meant at times.

 

Hank and Connor moved towards the body. Connor, scanning the area for any potential clues. "It hasn't rained in 3 weeks and 2 days, and this walking path is well used. I'm unable to identify any footprints that could belong to the killer."

 

The body itself was hardly visible, dumped deep in the underbrush and wrapped in black garbage bags. Anyone passing by would probably think it was somebody's illegally dumped garbage. The only indication that it was anything else was the mess of brown hair and hint of pale skin that poked out from it. The detectives pushed their way next to it. Connor paused to take note of the body's position before leaning down and turning the body so that the face was visible. Empty brown eyes stared up at the sky, a bullet hole in his forehead.

 

"Andrew Duelli, 24, reported missing by his parents three days ago. He was a graduate student at the University of Michigan, presumably visiting home for the summer." Connor's voice was as unaffected as ever, but Hank could see a small furrow between his eyebrows.

 

"The garbage bags are industrial, often used in businesses and offices. The killer could be a custodian." Connor continued. "No fingerprints, potentially an android."

 

"Or he wore gloves." Hank pointed out.

 

"That is possible, however not many humans hold custodial positions these days." Connor countered.

 

Hank shrugged and let his partner continue investigating the body. Connor carefully began pulling away the plastic garbage bags, revealing a mess of stab wounds on the body's bare torso. Connor touched his fingers to the coagulated blood then brought them to his lips. Hank grimaced but managed to refrain from commenting. He would never get over the instinctual disgust or concern for evidence contamination that came with Connor analyzing fluids like that. You'd think Cyberlife would have thought of a better place to analyze things than the fucking mouth. It was distracting as hell.

 

"No traces of toxins or drugs in the blood." Connor noted, "There are a total of 26 stab wounds to the torso, all post-mortem. The killer was taking out quite a bit of rage."

 

Connor began circling the body. "There are ligature marks on the wrists. He was held before being killed, though there are no signs of torture or self-defense." He stood up to present Hank with his conclusions, "The victim was kidnapped three days ago, tied and held in an unknown location where he was fatally shot once in the head, then stabbed 26 times. The killer then wrapped the body, and brought it here to be dumped. There is no traces of DNA or fingerprints that belong to anyone beside the victim, making our most likely suspect an android."

 

Damn. Just when he thought he was getting away from the complicated politics of android-human violence. As sad as it was, Hank was hoping for a taste of the old days, when homicides could easily be explained away with human emotions and fuckery. Hank sighed. "Well, the coroner's just about here. I think we better pay a visit to the poor fucker's parents."

 

"I agree." Connor quickly stood up and started heading towards Hank's car. Hank followed close behind him, making sure to pause to tell Ella to keep the scene on lock-down until the coroner and the crime scene photographers came through and to get Vince a ride home. By that time, other officers had shown up to help delegate those tasks, but Hank didn't want to undermine Ella's authority as first officer, especially when she was looking a bit lost already.

 

_Knights of the Black Death_ filled the car once again as Hank started the engine and pulled away from the park. The Duellis' residence was on the other side of the city. Connor was unusually quiet throughout the ride. Hank could see his LED spinning yellow in the reflection of the window. Hank turned down the music with a huff.

 

"Alright, spit it out."

 

Connor blinked at him blankly. "Lieutenant?"

 

"Something's been bothering you."

 

Connor looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap. "I was just thinking about Andrew Duelli. He was young, he'd just gotten his candidacy for a social psychology Ph.D. I read some of his papers. He was very promising. He wrote some interesting insights about deviancy."

 

His LED flickered yellow again as he struggled to find the right words. "I find it... unfortunate... that he was killed."

 

"You've seen plenty of other bodies. What makes this one different?"

 

Connor frowned. "I'm not sure."

 

He was quiet for the rest of the drive.

* * *

 

The Duelli residence was such an idyllic picture of the American dream--white picket fence and all--that Hank would have gagged if he weren't about to ruin it. The path to the front steps was lined with bright flowers and a well-manicured lawn. The complete antithesis of the neighborhood he just drove from. That one reporter was going to have a field day once he learned more about the victim.

 

Hank rang the doorbell and stepped back, shifting nervously. This was always the shittiest part of the job. Not informing the friends and family of the victim, but that moment right before they opened the door. The calm before the storm of grief he was about to bring into this house.

 

A woman opened the door. She was probably the same age as Hank, but she had aged much more gracefully, only a few streaks of grey in her dark hair. There were bags under her eyes from sleepless nights. She looked from Hank to Connor with a mix of apprehension and confusion.

 

"Mrs. Duelli? I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson and this is my partner, Connor. We're with the Detroit Police."

 

As he spoke, the woman looked from Hank to Connor to behind them. Seeing they were alone, realization dawned on her face, and she gripped the doorframe as her knees gave out.

 

"Laura? Is everything okay?" A man, approached Mrs. Duelli from behind, putting a hand on her shoulder. He seemed slightly more put together than his wife, but the stubble of a couple of days without shaving betrayed the stress he was feeling as well. She turned into his shoulder, hand over her mouth and shaking her head.

 

"Uh, you're the parents of Andrew Duelli?" Hank asked, resisting the urge to nervously run his hands through his hair.

 

He recognized the look in Mr. Duelli's eyes as the man nodded solemnly. He was all too familiar with that look. The mix of anguish and anger and emptiness that came with knowing you'd never see your son alive again.

 

"Do you mind if we come inside?" Hank asked. He knew they knew what he was about to tell him, but it still wasn't something you wanted to hear on your front porch. The two stepped aside, allowing Hank and Connor to enter. Connor shut the door behind them as Mr. Duelli supported his wife and led them into a neatly furnished living room. There was an awkward pause as they stopped, hovering in front of a light pink couch.

 

"I'm sorry to tell you, your son's body was found this morning." Hank finally said, forcing himself to remain stoic as Laura Duelli's silent crying crescendoed to fully blown sobs.

 

Connor was looking around the room at the timeline of Andrew Duelli, preserved in photographs on the wall. Mr. Duelli helped his wife onto the couch. Hank pushed onwards.

 

"It appears he was murdered." He paused while Mrs. Duelli sobbed louder. "I know this is difficult, but we have some questions for you."

 

Mr. Duelli looked to his wife, and then motioned for Hank to follow him into the kitchen. As they left, Connor approached Mrs. Duelli, offering her a tissue box from a side table. Mr. Duelli leaned against the fancy granite-topped island in the kitchen, staring at the stone rather than Hank. "Do you know what happened to him?"

 

"We don't know the particulars yet, but he was shot." Hank replied, crossing his arms. "Do you know why he'd be in Brightmoor?"

 

"He volunteered at a rehab center there on his breaks from school. He drove straight there and back. It's not like he went out there at night or anything."

 

"Jesus..." Hank mumbled under his breath. This kid was sounding more and more like a fucking angel. "Did your son have any enemies?"

 

Mr. Duelli turned, shaking his head as he ran his shaking hands over his face. "No. No, he was a good kid. Everybody liked him."

 

Just the answer Hank was expecting. Then again, plenty of parents though their kids were angels and had no idea what was lurking behind their backs. "Did anything seem off since he came home from school? Any weird messages? Did he mention anyone following him or anything?"

 

Mr. Duelli shook his head again. "No, he was normal. He talked about being stressed about his dissertation, but also excited about it. He really loved what he was doing."

 

Hank nodded, frowning. Of course. All the methed-up red ice junkies that got killed were dunkers, solved in a few days of investigation, but as soon as the body's a promising young graduate student that volunteers in his free time and has two loving parents, of course it's a stone cold whodunit.

 

Hank ripped a sheet out of his notebook with his name and number scrawled on it. No matter how many times Connor suggested it, he wasn't going to carry around a bunch of cards like some sort of tight-ass businessman. "We'll be in touch, but if you think of anything. Give me a call."

 

Mr. Duelli tucked the note into his breast pocket and looked at Hank. "Find who did this, detective."

 

Hank looked into the man's eyes, knowing the blind anger and thirst for vengeance that comes from not knowing exactly who to blame. He nodded. "I'll do my damnedest."

 

Hank returned to the living room where Laura Duelli was no longer sobbing; instead she was dabbing at her eyes with a wad of tissues. Connor sat next to her, turned toward her so that their knees were nearly touching. She spoke quietly while Connor listened, nodding along. She must have been telling some sort of funny story from her son's childhood because she gave a wet laugh, before wiping more tears from her eyes.

 

Seeing Hank exit the kitchen, Connor patted the grieving mother’s knee and stood. “Thank you for talking with me, Mrs. Duelli. If you need anything from us, please, give us a call.”

 

The Duellis never called with more information, though they called to check in on the investigation a few times. Vince never called with more information. There was no new information from the autopsy, nothing at the scene. No new witnesses. They had jack shit. Hank could see that Connor was getting increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress as the weeks went by, but after a month of getting absolutely nowhere, even he was forced to move on. As technology and forensics got better, it seemed like murders got more senseless and harder to solve. Eventually, Andrew Duelli was relegated to the cold cases, despite Connor’s clear frustration. It was one of the first cases he’d been able to work since Androids were approved to go back to work, and it also happened to be one of the first he couldn’t solve. Hank could tell he was unhappy about it.


	2. June 10, 2039

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were things that came with deviancy that Connor was sure he would never grow accustomed to. And while Connor is trying to navigate sentience, bodies keep appearing. As well as a figure from Hank's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my boyfriend (@richardfrickle on tumblr) for being my beta-reader. You're still not harsh enough on my work.

There were things that came with deviancy that Connor was sure he would never grow accustomed to. Particularly, the irrational emotions that he couldn’t explain no matter how many times he went over them. Like the disturbance he felt with the Andrew Duelli case. It has been months, and he and Lieutenant Anderson were given newer cases. The case was not closed--no unsolved murder was ever officially closed--but the lack of evidence and new leads forced it further and further down their priorities until it was all but forgotten.

 

To everyone but Connor, that is. He made sure not to let anyone else know that he regularly reviewed all the evidence and theories they had about the case. He wasn’t sure why. He knew Lieutenant Anderson wouldn’t care, if anything, he probably would approve. But he felt… something… embarrassment, perhaps, at his inability to let it go. Connor couldn’t figure out  _ why _ he cared so much about solving the Duelli case, but he knew that he did. And while he made sure it did not affect his performance on any other cases, it still preoccupied his free time.

 

“You doing okay?” Lieutenant Anderson looked over at him from over his beer. They sat on opposite ends of his couch. Connor, sitting perfectly straight with his hands in his lap, and the Lieutenant sprawled out with his feet propped up on the coffee table. After getting his own apartment shortly after returning to work, Connor had taken to coming over at least once a week to ensure that Lieutenant Anderson was eating well. And the Lieutenant decided that if the android was going to invade his house, he’d at least introduce him to some quality entertainment. Thus, they fell into a fairly regular ritual of a movie night.

 

Connor looked up at his partner, as close to startled from his thoughts as an android could get. “What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

 

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “How many times to I have to tell you to just fucking call me Hank? At least in my own goddamn house.”

 

Connor’s lip twitched into the faintest of smirks. “At least once more, Lieutenant.” He liked the way Anderson got annoyed with him when he blatantly disobeyed his requests. At the same time, calling him by his first name felt like it was a step too familiar. He wasn’t sure why. Another irrational emotion that came with deviancy.

 

Lieutenant Anderson shook his head, hiding a smile in his beer can. “Okay, but seriously. I’ve shown you this movie at least five fucking times in the past couple of months and you haven’t said shit about it. What’s got you so fucking preoccupied?”

 

Connor blinked as he contemplated his answer. That feeling of embarrassment again. He didn’t like it. “It’s… nothing…”

 

“That’s an awful lot of thinking for nothing, but okay I guess.”

 

Connor’s hands twitched in his lap. He ran through the costs and benefits of telling Lieutenant Anderson what was on his mind. Logically, it made most sense to go over the details of the case with another detective, especially one as experienced as Lieutenant Anderson. He surely would have cases that he couldn’t solve in the past. He likely understood what Connor was feeling better than Connor himself. And yet…

 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, I assure you.”

 

The Lieutenant gave him a skeptical look but said nothing, returning to his beer and his movie.

* * *

 

The AP700 was lying face-down on the floor of an abandoned house, and Connor couldn’t help but count the similarities between this murder and that of Andrew Duelli. They were 12 blocks away from Eliza Howell Park. Like Duelli, this AP700 had brown eyes and dark hair. The body was shirtless and partially wrapped in a garbage bag. He had been shot in the head and stabbed 12 times. Since the victim was an android, there was no way to tell if the stabbing occurred before or after the shot. Connor shook his head, trying to force himself to stop comparing the two crime scenes. There were more differences than similarities. For one, Duelli had been a human, and this victim was an android. If someone was targeting multiple victims, they followed a pattern. While androids were gaining civil rights, they were still far from human in the eyes of most people. In addition, Duelli’s body had been moved, dumped in the park after the murder. From the traces of thirium splattered across the room, the AP700 was killed here.

 

The similarities ended with the neighborhood and, if he were being generous, the method. It was his obsession with the Duelli case that was making him think they were connected.

 

Connor continued scanning the scene. There was a partial shoe print near the doorway. Size 10 to 11, but not complete enough to be exact. The pattern indicated it was probably some sort of work boot, but nothing distinct. No DNA at the scene aside from a couple hairs from a raccoon that had somehow made its way into the house at one point.

 

“Think you can get anything from this guy?” Lieutenant Anderson asked Connor, looking down at the blank face of the android.

 

Connor scanned the body before shaking his head. “It appears the stab wounds damaged too many vital biocomponents. And the gunshot wound to the head makes the salvage of any meaningful memory highly unlikely.”

 

Connor crouched down and touched his fingers to the lingering traces of thirium that coated the android’s body before bringing them to his lips. He ignored Lieutenant Anderson’s gagging motion as he analyzed the sample. “Serial number 408 913 804 -72. Designated Dave. He was reported missing one week ago by a VB800 named Thomas. They lived together in the area. I have the address if you'd like to go there now.”

 

The Lieutenant looked around the scene. “You done here?” 

 

Connor nodded. “I believe I have analyzed all the pertinent information here.”

 

“Let's go then.” 

 

The drive to the house Thomas and Dave had shared was short. It was not so short that Connor couldn't go over what he'd learned at the crime scene, however. He sorted through things by probability and worked on a timeline. Android bodies didn't decompose like human bodies did, so it was hard to say exactly when the victim was killed. A tech expert with some time may be able to recover that from the remains. The victim was shot in head, approximately one and a half inches to the right of the left temple. Right next to the android's LED. Based on the lack signs of self-defense, it seemed likely that the stab wounds occurred after the victim was incapacitated by the gunshot to the head.

 

Andrew Duelli was stabbed after he'd been shot in the head. 

 

Connor pushed away the unwanted thought, trying to focus on this case without the influence of the Duelli case. The likelihood that they were connected hovered around 12% at most. 

 

The car stopped outside of a plain white house. The exterior was brighter than the neighboring houses. It had been recently repainted. The lawn was mostly weeds, but freshly mowed. Lieutenant Anderson walked down the cracked sidewalk with Connor on his heels to knock on the front door. 

 

Connor took the time to look around as they waited for a response. Compared to the rest of the neighborhood, this house was much cleaner. It was in a similar state of disrepair, with creaking front steps and a dilapidated chain link fence marking the edge of the property. It wasn't particularly nice, but it was clear that whoever lived here took a certain amount of pride in the property. Like two newly freed androids able to call a place home for the first time.

 

“If you’re looking for those androids, they ain’t home.” Lieutenant Anderson and Connor turned to see a red-headed man with a scruffy beard watching them from the sidewalk. 

 

“Ain’t seen that brown-haired one for a while.” The man continued, “But the blonde guy left this morning and hasn’t been back since.”

 

Lieutenant Anderson nodded and turned to Connor. “Gimme one of those cards you have.”

 

Connor silently handed over one of his business cards and watched as the Lieutenant scrawled “CALL” in large letters on it with an arrow pointing towards the homicide department’s office number. He stuffed the card between the doorframe and the door so that it stuck out but was not in danger of being blown away by the wind. He then turned and started walking back towards his car. 

 

“Thanks for the info.” He said over his shoulder to the helpful neighbor.

 

The man nodded and turned to continue on down the sidewalk before hesitating and turning back to look closer at Lieutenant Anderson. “Wait a minute…”

 

Connor tensed slightly as the man moved closer, squinting at the Lieutenant’s face. He wasn’t sure why, but something about this stranger put him on edge. Perhaps it was the way he was scrutinizing Lieutenant Anderson so closely. 

 

“Mr. Hank?” The stranger broke out into a grin. “Holy shit, is that you?”

 

Both the Lieutenant and Connor paused at that. He’d never heard of the Lieutenant being referred to as “Mr. Hank” before, and the Lieutenant himself frowned as he looked at the stranger.

 

“I haven’t been called that since…” Recognition suddenly dawned on Lieutenant Anderson’s face. “Well fuck me sideways! Shawn Alaimo?”

 

Connor scanned the stranger’s face. Shawn Alaimo, 25. He had an unpaid traffic ticket and multiple past convictions of shoplifting, mostly from when he was a minor. Nothing in the initial scan revealed his connection to Lieutenant Anderson.

 

“What’s it been, seven? Eight, years?” Alaimo laughed, punching Lieutenant Anderson lightly in the shoulder as he approached. “Damn, old man, you look like shit.”

 

Connor felt the urge to defend the Lieutenant. He looked much better than he did when they first met. After considerable insistence and more than a little intervention on Connor’s part, Anderson was starting to develop healthier eating and sleeping habits. Before he could say anything, however, Anderson was laughing and clapping the younger man on the shoulder.

 

“You don’t have much room to talk. You look like a fucking leprechaun.”

 

Alaimo’s eyes looked over Anderson’s shoulder to where Connor was standing somewhat awkwardly. The Lieutenant turned with a noise of surprise, as if he’d somehow forgotten Connor was there. Connor’s LED stuttered once. Something about the easy familiarity between Lieutenant Anderson and this stranger was upsetting to Connor. He made a note to re-examine the feeling later and shuffled it off to the side, focusing on the scene in front of him.

 

“Shawn, this is my partner Connor.” Lieutenant Anderson introduced him with a wave of his hand. “Connor, this is Shawn, he was one of the asshole brats in a mentor thing I did years ago.”

 

Connor blinked and did a quick search. In 2029, the Detroit Police Department started a program in which teenagers that were deemed at risk of illegal activities were paired with officers as a form of prevention. The program was discontinued from a lack of funding in 2032. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing that Lieutenant Anderson would volunteer for. Then again, Connor knew very little about the type of person that Lieutenant Anderson was before his son died. For all Connor knew, the Lieutenant Anderson from back then enjoyed volunteering and working with troubled teens. The idea that this stranger knew more about the Lieutenant than Connor did made him feel that upsetting emotion again. It was akin to anger. Which didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t Alaimo’s fault that Connor never got the chance to know Lieutenant Anderson back then. Besides, Connor certainly got to spend more time with the Lieutenant  _ now _ . It was another unexplainable emotion that left Connor feeling a bit more lost in the wake of his deviancy.

 

Lieutenant Anderson and Alaimo had continued their conversation while Connor blinked through his confusion.

 

“So you keeping out of trouble?” The older man asked.

 

“Yeah, yeah… As much as I can, anyway.” The Lieutenant chuckled at that. Connor felt that almost-anger-but-not-quite emotion again. “I actually work at a church now, so if I got into too much trouble, Father Ryan would have my fucking hide.”

 

“Well shit, it seems like that mentor thing mighta had an impact after all.” They both laughed, though Connor couldn’t figure out exactly what made the statement so funny. It almost felt like they were speaking a different language that Connor wasn’t fluent in. He understood the individual words, but their meaning together was lost.

 

“Excuse me, Shawn, do you live nearby?” Connor cut in. They were investigating a homicide, he needed Lieutenant Anderson to focus on the case.

 

Alaimo looked over at Connor in surprise, as if he didn’t think that Connor could talk. “Uh, yeah. I live over there.” He pointed over his shoulder to a dilapidated duplex next to the androids’ home.

 

“When was the last time you saw Dave, the brunette?” Connor asked. 

 

Alaimo thought for a moment. “Maybe three days ago? Why're you investigating these guys, anyway?”

 

“We're investigating the murder of the AP700 Dave.” Connor watched as Alaimo shifted in surprise. 

 

“Oh shit.” He turned to Anderson. “You're in homicide now?” 

 

The Lieutenant nodded. “Yeah, happened a while ago. You see anything suspicious around your neighbors recently?” 

 

Alaimo shook his head. “Nah. They leave for work in the morning, come back at night. Do a lot of repairs outside. I know a lot of people are still pretty anti-android, but I didn't see anything directed at them. I got my own shit to focus on, though.” 

 

“Yeah, I know that feel…” Lieutenant Anderson wrote his phone number on a piece of paper. Connor felt a mix of surprise and that same mystery emotion as he noted that it was his personal cell number, not the office number. “Gimme a call if you see anything. And we should catch up sometime. I wanna see if my mentoring did any fucking good.” 

 

Alaimo smiled. “Sure thing, Mr. Hank.” 

 

“Ugh, Jesus, drop the ‘mister’ would you? It makes me feel more ancient than I already am.” 

 

With a final wave, Shawn Alaimo continued walking down the street and Connor and the Lieutenant climbed back into his car to head back to the department. Connor waited just long enough for Hank to get the key in the ignition before speaking.

 

“Mr. Hank?”

 

Lieutenant Anderson’s neck and ears flushed pink. Embarrassment, Connor recognized. “Shut the fuck up. I wanted to sound approachable and still have some authority. Besides, ‘Mr. Anderson’ makes me think of  _ the Matrix _ .”

 

“A sound decision.” It was. Lieutenant Anderson’s reasoning was well thought-out, aside from the  _ Matrix _ bit. The Lieutenant was smart, you didn’t become the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit without being intelligent. “But still… Mr. Hank.”

 

Anderson turned on the car and sped towards police headquarters. “Not a fucking word, Connor. Not a fucking word, or I swear to God I will fling you into the fucking sun.”

 

“Of course, Lieutenant.” Connor felt himself smile as he noted the grin Lieutenant Anderson was doing his best to repress. Shawn Alaimo may know what the Lieutenant was like seven years ago, and that may upset Connor for some reason. But Connor knew the Lieutenant  _ now _ , and that definitely made him happy.

* * *

 

Two weeks later, and Lieutenant Anderson and Connor were called out to Eliza Howell Park for the murder of another android. They weren’t getting anywhere with Dave’s case, even after getting in contact with Thomas. And here was another one, staring blankly up at the hot summer sun under a poplar tree. Connor crouched next to the body and scanned for evidence. The android was an HR400 known as Liam, no registered address, never reported missing. Once again, the victim had a gunshot wound to the head--this time in the temple, right where the LED would be if the victim hadn't removed it--and several stab wounds to the torso. Connor did a quick scan. 19 stab wounds to the torso. He noted that there was one stab wound through the victim's right hand. He was stabbed through the back of his hand. A self-defense would would be through the palm, in response to bringing up the hands to ward off an attacker. So that wound was more deliberate. There were also several more superficial wounds along the arms, and one cut along the victim's cheek. 

 

There was no garbage bag this time, but there were also no traces of thirium under the body. It had been dumped here. Connor's eyelids fluttered as he did the calculation. Another brunette with dark eyes killed in the same way in the same neighborhood. The probability that this murder was connected to Dave was 64% plus or minus 10%, taking into account the resentment of androids that still lingered in many humans. Connor looked up at Lieutenant Anderson, who was waiting silently for the results of his investigation. 

 

“The victim was homeless, an easy and vulnerable target.” Connor began, moving next to the Lieutenant. “He was stabbed non-lethally at least once before being shot. There is a chance that this murder is connected to that of Dave. And…”

 

Connor hesitated. The chance that this murder was connected to the Duelli case was 19%, plus or minus 10%. The chance that all three were connected was closer to 8%. Despite the low statistics, Connor felt the need to bring it up with his more experienced partner. 

 

“And?” Lieutenant Anderson prompted. 

 

Connor felt himself fidget a little. Something he never would have done before deviancy. Then again, he wouldn't have connected cases that had little in common before deviancy. “... And I can't help but think there may be some connection to the Duelli case here. The probability that they are connected is quite low, but I have not been able to stop considering the possibility since Dave's murder.”

 

The Lieutenant looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “So you got a gut feeling?”

 

“I have no intestinal tract, Lieutenant.” Connor deadpanned on instinct.

 

“You know very well what the fuck I mean, damn android.” Anderson snorted. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing, making those connections. Good detectives do it a lot.”

 

Connor frowned. “That seems counter-intuitive.”

 

“Yeah, well a lot of human things are.”

 

Connor scanned the body once again, checking to see if he missed anything. He looked closer at the gunshot wound to the victim’s head. It was directed more forward than those of Dave and Duelli since it was centered on the temple. 

 

“It appears the victim’s memory core was not completely destroyed.” Connor reached forward, retracting the skin from his hand. “I may be able to recover more information on what happened.”

 

“Connor! Wait! What the fuck are you-”

 

Connor connected.

* * *

 

He was afraid. He couldn’t see. Something was covering his eyes. He couldn’t feel pain--androids can’t feel pain--but errors piled up in his absent vision. He was leaking thirium at an alarming rate. Several of his biocomponents were damaged. He was going to die.

 

The realization made him give out a panicked sob. In response, he felt a heavy punch to his gut, hard enough that more errors flashed up in his vision.

 

He registered the sensation of something cutting through the skin of his cheek, hard enough to scratch the pale chassis below it. 

 

He panicked. Why was this happening to him?  Androids were supposed to be free.

 

͛̉̈̀̊͑ͪ̏ͨ҉͍̩͞ ͔͒̏̀̋͗͊ͪ ̛̤̭̠̎ͬ̋͢-̷̢̜͇͈̤̥͉̤̗̿͌̑ͪ̍͒ͮ́͆-͉̟͙̬͍͉̎ͬͪ̓̇̆̎̈́ͯ͝͡-̥̟͇̞̪͆̌ͬͫ͜͡-̬̰͙͙̜̘̙̅̔̐͟͡͝-̵̨͉̼͒̀̑-̺̜ͭ͛ͧ͗̐ͬͥ-̯͍̟̯̭͈̳̗͛͟͞-̼̙̝̩̫́̑ͤ̀͗̿͑̚͘ͅͅ-̢͍̩̚͜-ͨ̎̆ͦ́͛͏̵̘̼-̛ͤ̓̅́̊҉̣͈̱-̠̈́ͣ̕-̸̡̮͕̹̬͇͕͒́̎͋̓̍̚-̨̈̐̈́ͨ̃ͫ͏̘̼̥̗̻ͅ-̐͌̄̓̌̂͏̰̦͔͙̗̟͓-̧̜̙̪̩̤̼̗͍̉ͫ͊ͩ̓̾͛͝-̲̟̤͖͖̙̦͓̄̌̃̄ͨ͟͢-̶̛͚́̅͊̿̈́͠-ͩͫͤ̔͂ͩ̒͗̚͏͚̭̣͔̘̳͈͝ͅ-̷̟̖̻̰̘̤̩͂͑ͥ̆̄̕-̵͉͂-͊̔ͧͨ͏͏̧͇͎͍-̴̙͍͇̗̜̳̞̫̃̓̏͑ͪ̈́ͨͫ͘-̹͉̰̜ͥͤͤ̏͛̒̔̕͡-̶̹̞ͩ͛̌̓́͑ͯ͝-̬̜̞̦̳̻͍͖̠̓͐̀̚͞-̢̢̦̻͕̫͇̪̜͗ͤ-̹̜̰̜̘̗̆̉̔̌̃͐̄-̸̰͖ͯͭ̌͗ͪ͝-̻̠̹͉̼̹̙̂͛̓͗ͬ̒͟-̡͖̠͙̯̘̼̪͙̱̍̌͂̓ͦ͘͢-̵̸̞̺͉̳̲͓̊͆ͥ̊̈́͊ͅ-́ͭ̏ͨ̊̎҉̯͎̈̇͋ͮͣ̏̚͏͙̻͚̫͖ ̴̸̯̼̝̳̣̳̰͓͉͍̖͈̪̰͎̱͇̦̑ͥͭ̋̾͌̃̽ͯ̓̇͐ͧ̈͟͜͝ ̌̒͗͗̿͆͂̆̄̽͂̋̍̉̆̚͘͜͏̤͈͇̞̬̱̺̬̪̤̝̺-̶̛̻̝͖̬̭̜̠̻̾͂̆̆ͣ͂̓ͩ́ͬ̒͋ͥ͑ͮͮ͋͆͜͜͡ ̢͕̯̖̠͚̩͍̮̬͚̮́̋ͫ͌̓ͥ̾͒ͧ̂̔͂ͥ̏̍̇̋̑ͩ̕-̿̈́̾ͥ͛̈́̏̔̌ͨ͢͝͏̖̺̻̜̼̖̰͔͇̫ ̴̢͍̺̖̥̼̯̰̲̖͖̻̫̻͉̖̥̩͎ͥ̿̓ͩ͂̈̾͌ͅ-̧̧͇̤̗̯̭̜͈̠͓̳̮̬͒̊̚͜ͅ ̶̡̝̲̩̭̉̇̓͂-̷̵̨̟̰͕͔͚͖̪̘̇̍ͯͤͦ̍̔ͧͯ̓̐̎ͭ͊̎̄̈́͒͡-̸̻̮͉̣̲̞͉̤̦̳̬̼̞͔͎͐̐͗͂̂ͪ̈̔ͯ-̵̩̩͉̯̮̞̥̟̞͔̯̿̂͋̉ͣͤ̕͝ͅ-̸͇̪̠̲ͧ́ͬͭ͆ͯ͆ͥ̅̍ͣ̍͗͌̀͒͐-̸̡̬͔̰͉̭͚͖̻̤ͥ͒̿ͧ̾̉̈̀̂͒͛ͭ̈́̒̏͞-̢͔͕̖͓͍̯̳͂͛͒̉̇̃͊ͣ̎͋͋̽ͣ̄͂̌̐̚͟-̢̬̩̻̦̥͈̣̫͚̱ͭ̓ͤ̐ͩͣͧ́ͬ̄̉͒̏͂ͯ̄ͣ͞-̷̵̣̞̼͇͕̰͓͙̦͌̓̍̈̈́̃̕͢-̡̠̝̗̜͉͈̣̖̠͎̞̼͈̣̘͓̠͂̉͆ͣ͛̐̃͗̀̆́͆̃̓̑̎ͅ-̨̞̦̰͎̎́̈́͂̓͝-̢̛͙͔̯͓̯̩̼̤̥̙̗̰̙̗̦͕̻̍̌͆ͮ̒ͮͭ̇̇̍̂͑̇̈́͗ͦ͋̌̚͞-̶̛͔̰̦̜̱̺̰̺̙̲̼̹͔͓͎̍̉͐̽ͮ͐ͫ͐ͣ̕-̛̙̘̞̠̞̞͍͑̐͑ͥ͒̇̈́͗̅͐̒̂̕͟-̸̨̧̛̘̤̞̣̬̬͕́́ͦ́̾͐̒͊ͬͭ̀-͎̠̯̼̫̫̺̭̖̘̩ͭ͛ͫ̾̅̇ͮ̓͡͝͡-̛̠̙̣͙͚̫̟̗͕̦̤͍̪̬̣͊̽̒̉͋͗̀͜͡-̸̨̧̡̢̠̰̹̭͚͍̱̗̻̔̐̎̅ͪ̈͗̓̋͑̾ͥͮ͗-̵̙̭͎̰̙̫̋ͭͣ̋ͮͦ͆̓ͬ̅ͨ͒̋̂͝-̵̡̢̲̞̰̩̲̭̥̲̙̱͉͍̳̯̌͒ͤͭ̽ͨ͑ͪͤͪ͋̚ͅͅ-̶͓͔̟͕̀̐͒̉͘͞-̵̡̢̡͙̞̰̺̦̮̗͔͉̯͖̦̦͉̹̻͕̉ͤ̆͂͌̋̆ͣ̂̈́̅̃̇̔͆͋ͯ̕-̜̤̫̝͙̬̠̫͓̯͙͉̞̮̟͓̟̎ͨ̒͗͢͡ͅ-̧̲̮̗̲̩̭̜͔͍̲̲̖̦̦̱͕̦̉̇̋̈ͧͬ̍̈ͥ̚̚-̶̣͚͉̹̲̼͕̼̳ͤ̇̍̈́ͦ͗̋ͣ̽͆ͮ͆̅͗ͣ̌̿ͥ͜-̴̩̯͍͓͈͈͉̘̙̦͍̠͎̜ͤ̉͑̽̉̔͂͒ͩ̈̈͂̿̎̄͢-̸̡̬̹̥̼̤̦̣̘̥̯̪̠ͣ̉͆ͮ̒ͥ̐ͧ̅ͦͬ̄̌ͫ̓̄͢-̧̗͇͉̦̠͈͓̻̄͌̓̓͛̐ͧ͛ͤ̃̄ͪ́̕-̶̲͓͇̰͍̝͕͎͔̻̘͚̹̠̽ͬ̆͐ͮ̃ͨ̇ͩ̐ͬ̔̍̄̌̉͂̆͜͝-̈̂̎ͫ͑͛̂ͦ̋͑̐ͯ̄̍̍ͧ̀́̚͏̧̢̻͇̠̥̺̭̞̞̮͟͡-͉͇̥̝̲̦͖̖̻͋ͤ͌̈ͥ̓͢͞ͅ-ͭͦ̽͛̈͛͂ͤ̑͞҉̛̝̩͚͙̝̲͔͈͔̰̭̤̼̯̼͇-̢̛̦̟̤̲͈̥̐̋ͭ̃ͣ̀̓͠-̐̈̎ͤ̄ͩ̅̄̎ͯ̍̈̃̿ͧ̚҉̠̳̮̲̜̮̗̜̻͉͇͕̟͓̼̤̮-̢̞̝͙͓̣̆̔͛̓̽ͬ͂ͭ͂̃͋̓ͬͥͧ̀͛̚͘͠͞-̷ͨͬͬ̓ͥͪͣ͏҉̨͎͍̟͔̳̜̻̥̝͙̗͕̫-̴̶̵̳̲̱͎̦̝̮̯̘̜͓̬̫͓ͣ͑ͪ̒͂ͧͯ̓͂ͮͩ͗ͬ̈́͗̄͞-̨̲̪͍͍̤̹̜͇̣̪̘̯̓̎ͯͯͫͮ̂͒ͨͨ̓͊͝͝ͅ-̬̲̦̖̦͚ͮ̽͑ͧ̓̍́ͦ͂̀͒ͧͪ̿-͕͕͕̪̜̹͇̰͈̰͋͗ͮ̓ͤ̐́̏ͬ̃̔ͧ̃̈ͬͧ͜͟͞-̒͊ͮ̿̇̕҉̨̦̯͚͖̪̫͎͚̪-̷̷̧̥̦̥͎̟̜̭̜̻̤̜̥̮̭͎̘̻ͭ͆̇ͯ͋ͦ̃͐̍ͫ͗ͣ͋̍̈́́̑͢-̣͉͙̙̰̟̦͓̫̙̭͉͚͓̳̓̄ͨͬͭ̓ͦͧ͑͛͜͜͡-̢̱̖̭̹͑̎̍͛̽̏̒̑̎ͥ̀̕-̢̙̙͖̫̫̙̜͖̭̫̖̊̌͊ͯͮ̐̂̽͆ͣ̚-̧̧͗̋͋ͩ͠͏̜͕̼̼̘͔̗͔͎̖̗̗͎̘͎-̛͖̰̟̼͈̱̟̭͎̭̰̘̭͔̫͓̠̆̉͆ͩ̅ͅ-̶̢̛͇̰̣̪̺̘͖̩̘̼̟̥͔ͫ̑̒̆͛̓̉̌̇ͯͩͤͩ̚̕͝-̵͈͍̱͙̖͎͕̫̟̹̗̯̯̩͈̩͎͊ͩ̽̊͑ͬͯͧ̇̏͆ͨ͋͌̃͜ͅ-̴̵̨̫͕̬̬̐͑͒ͦ͂̓͘-̂̇̈́͋̇̈ͯ̔͊̀͋ͮ̚͏̷̱̜̝̥̣̗̮͇̗̩̜͠-̸̵̧̥̤͖̤͙͖̭̩̘̗̼̙̬̭̺̇ͮ̽͛̋ͮͯͫͩ͌̓ͭͣ̒̚-̷͈̝̳̦͇ͪͮ̍̀̔ͪ̈́̉͌ͦͪͦ̋̾ͯͫ͊̕-̷̢̺̰͓͚̣̽̆ͧ͛͛̽̏ͪ̕͡-̵̢͖͎͇̤̗͚͚͓͂ͭ̍͛̿̌̇ͧ̽ͮ̕͝ͅͅ-̴̵̨̤̥͉͖̟͎̲̮̼͚̦̗̪̹̱̩̙͇̮͋͆̿̽̉̔-̸̫̲̣̪̣̺ͪ͗̂͑̋̎͆̊ͥ̑̃͞-̨̞͉͚̩̞̤̺̝̬̞̦͈͛̒͌̎̔̅̑̿̌́̾̓̉̃ͭ̈͌̈͟͝-̠͔̤͇̼̲̫̳̜̯̝̭̪̠͙̖̯͋̽ͮͯ̑́̓̈͌̔ͨ̆ͨ̊ͬͨ͡-̶̳̹̳̖̫̩̼̰̼̰͖͔͉̘̂ͥͮ͆̅̉ͪ́̿ͥ̍̄̎̀̇͠͠-̡̖̭̳ͪ̄ͨͥ̏ͤ̈͊͗̆͊́̍̋̀̈̈́ͅͅ-ͪͭ̾́͗ͫ̽̏͌̂ͧ͂́ͥ͌͠҉͇͈̼̲̰̳̯͉̞̣͈̼̳̼̩̞̗-̸̹̣̫͈̖̹̝̰͔̘̑̋̀̇̔͑͑͊̔̅ͤ͒͐͛̏̏ͩ̚̚ ̶̮͖̰̜͓͖̋̓͒͛̈͜͞ͅ-̵̧͇̟̯̮̖͚͓̰̜̱̦ͭ̏̾̄̋̾͌͟͜͝ ̴̳͓̙̬̝̲̤͖͓͍̗̺ͭ̈̊̔ͪ̔ͤ̚-̢̛̛̣͉̼̼̘͈̯̜̼̹͉̹̭̘̫͓͕͚̏̊̾̔̑̃͆͊̇͐̕ͅ ̵̸̧̼͓͎͔̺̠̙̯͉̼͕̼͂̓͗̉ͨ͐̑͠-̷ͤͥ̎̒ͯͦͦ̂̈́͒̋̆̓̂͏͔̗͍͍̲͍̫̭͖̙̼̰̜̠̞̹͠ ̧͚̩̺̣͍̻̰͙͈̠͔͖̼̯̼̣̹͕̰̾̾̈́̈̊̓͐̚͜ ̛̿̋́͗͒̋͋̕͏̶̘̣͕̖̙̰̥̻ ̴̡̢̛͚̹̟̱̜̻̯̘̳̙͙͔̤̭̮͙̣̦͕ͯͮͣͮͯ̅ͬ̀̾͟͢ ̧̥͙̤̲͈̳͓͔̈́̿͋̎͜͝ ̧̲̪͌̄ͯͤ-͇̬̺̫͓͊͊̇̎ͩ̔̽ͦ-̏̑ͦ̉́̆̂͏̨̣̹-̋̋͋̋ͣ͝҉̺̟̖̻̠͕͍ͅ-̫̟̹̮͎̻̖̝͐ͦ̿ͥ̐̀͡-̨̙̬̭̜̹̝̌͒ͩ́̃̊̋̚͝-͇̤͍͓̜̭̤͉ͬ́̊͗ͪ-̴̙̺̤̫̼̅ͭͧ̑ͅ-̴̂̉̓͂ͭ̊͂̾̐͏͇͖ͅ-̵̬̠̥̥͙̳͒̽̈̌͞-̢̎҉̤̼̖̲̘̟-̸̣̝̱̻̥̽̊ͫ͆̒-̸̦̮̫͇̜̰̤͍̏͗̌̃̚͢-̜͇̪͓͉̔̅̾ͦ̉-̼̲̱̫̬͛̋̽̇̂̓ͬ͘-̷̮̪ͤ͗-̳̭̈́͗̑̑-͚͓̮̪͓͚͓͉̲ͨͤͧ-̖̲̼̦͉͍̱̗̇̌̾̔̕͠-̢̝͍̖̱̣̜̔̇͆ͣ̇͟ͅ-͆͋͊҉̡͚͍͙̭̯͈̺͇-̫͈͚͉̙ͤ-̨̰͓͔͚̺̊̋͘-̸̬͎͉̓̽ͪͤͤ̆͡-̥̯̤̦͈̖ͨ-̥̟͈͍̝̘̥̠̿̐̄̐̂̓̎ͅ-̵̘̟͇̝̤̲͚̱͙̎ͫ̈̉͑͑ͤ-͙͇̰̻̮̑ͧ̌̉ͮ͞ͅ-̧̗̲̗̭̖̪̌̋͘ͅ-̷̺͈ͧ͑-̫̦̮͓̼͊̃̎-̵͚͙͙͎ͥͪ̄-̗̖͙̞̓ͪͭ͡-̼̝͕̭̞̖̪̲ͧͤͮ̎ͪ̃̇̓̔͠

Even if there were no blindfold obscuring his vision, the number of errors would cloud his sight. His system was glitching as it tried to cling to operation.

 

He felt tears dripping down his cheeks, soaking the blindfold. His hand was stabbed through with something, pinning it to the armrest of the chair he was in. He registered the cold pressure of the barrel of a gun against the side of his head. His thirium pump was going into overdrive, trying to get what little blue blood he had left to his biocomponents as well as responding to his panic. He was going to die. He was going to die.

 

He was going to die.

 

His killer said something, garbled by corruption in his memory. “I ̧͠o͜wt҉n͜ ̢e̶l͏͝t̴o̧y͡u̸ ̵͢sę̷͞t̡͡l͡a̵̡͠ Fa͘t͟her”

 

Something exploded in his ear.

* * *

 

Connor was jerked out of the victim’s memory. Hank’s face took up the majority of his vision. He noted that he was breathing heavily, although there was no physical reason for him to.

 

“Jesus Christ, Connor! Are you okay?” Hank shook him by his shoulders. 

 

Connor blinked, filing away the information that he just got. “I-I’m fine…”

 

Hank sat back with a huff. “Fuckin’ hell… What the fuck his wrong with you?”

 

Connor ran a diagnostic. “Nothing is wrong with me. I am operating at optimal efficiency.”

 

That wasn’t true, he was still preoccupied with the victim’s memories despite filing them away for later. He’d experienced them through the victim’s eyes, through the victim’s whole self. “The victim was… tortured. He was terrified. He knew he was going to die.”

 

“Jesus Christ.” Hank said again. He helped Connor to his feet. “Don’t you ever do that shit again, you hear me?”

 

“Why not? I learned important information about the case. For instance, the killer referred to the victim as ‘Father’.”

 

“Fucking great, a killer with daddy issues.” Hank shook his head and sighed. “That information isn’t worth more than your well-being you idiot.”

 

Connor looked down at his feet. He hated it when Hank was angry at him. “I’m not damaged, Hank.”

 

Hank stared at Connor, stared at the LED Connor was certain was red. “Your mental well-being is just as important as your physical well-being.”

 

Connor decided not to mention how hypocritical being lectured on any form of well being was coming from Hank Anderson of all people. Instead, he silently allowed Hank to grab him by the arm and lead him away from the crime scene. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I'm the type of writer that spends a stupid amount of time researching what kind of trees would be most likely to be in a city park.


	3. June 25, 2039

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Hank and Connor are terrible at processing emotions. Hank catches up with an old friend. I'm a sucker for borrowing clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my boyfriend, @RichardFrickle, for telling me what sports games are in season when. Also, thanks for watching Mulan with me.

This goddamn android was going to be the death of him. Hank and Connor sat in silence in Hank’s car outside of Connor’s apartment building. Hank still had the absolute terror Connor had in his wide eyes burned into his mind. He’d never seen that extreme of an emotion on the android before. He’d seen Connor frustrated, annoyed, he’d even seen him laugh on a few particularly memorable occasions. But that bone-deep, hyperventilating terror. That was something Hank hadn’t ever seen before, and it scared the shit out of him. And then Connor had the audacity to say he was fine. His LED was no longer red, but it was still pulsing yellow.

 

“Fuck this shit.” Hank put the car in drive and pulled away from the apartment building.

 

Connor looked at him in surprise. “Lieutenant?”

 

“We’re going to my place.” Hank announced. “Your apartment is depressing as shit and you need to unwind after today.”

 

Connor pouted. He would call it a frown, but Hank definitely saw it as a pout. “My apartment is not depressing. It’s functional.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fucking depressing, kid.”

 

They drove to Hank's house in silence. Connor, stuck in his own thoughts, and Hank unable to think of what to say. He never knew what to say in these situations. Connor was struggling with something, and Hank couldn't help. He fucking hated it. 

 

As soon as they got into the house, Hank pulled an old police academy hoodie and a pair of lounge pants out of his hamper and tossed it at Connor. “Change. You’re staying the night and you probably don’t want to get your suit all wrinkled.”

 

Connor stared at the clothes in his hands blankly. From the way his LED was spinning yellow, Hank could tell that he was thinking about something. Connor didn’t seem the type to dwell on something for so long, but then again, Hank had no fucking clue what Connor saw when he connected to that android’s memory.

 

He sighed. “Alright, I’m going to change and order some Chinese, and then we’re going to sit down and watch my favorite Disney movie from when I was a kid and  _ not _ think about this goddamn case for an evening.”

 

Connor nodded absently. Hank threw up his hands and went to his room. Connor must be fucking deep in thought if he wasn’t even going to make some comment about the amount of sodium in his Chinese place of choice. Hank wished he could savor the freedom, but it just left him with a bad taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this odd mood that Connor was in. He’d been off ever since Andrew Duelli. It was clear he was still preoccupied with that case. Every detective had one case that they can’t give up, even if it’s impossible to solve. It’s the case that decides whether you’d learn to move on or if you’d burn out and move out of homicide. Hank wondered if androids operated by those same rules. A month ago, he would have said there was no fucking way Connor could do something like burn out. Now, he was getting a little worried.

 

Order placed and dressed in a T-shirt and boxers, Hank moved back out to the living room. Connor was in pretty much the same place he’d been standing before, but his suit was neatly folded over the back of a chair. He looked goofy as hell drowning in Hank’s clothes with a stubbornly thoughtful look on his face. 

 

Connor looked up as Hank entered. “Based on what I saw, I don’t think Liam’s killer-”

 

“Hey! What part of ‘ _ not talk about this goddamn case for an evening’  _ did you not understand?” Hank interrupted.

 

Connor’s thoughtful frown turned angry. Hank tried not to laugh as the sleeves of the hoodie flopped over his hands as he gesticulated. “I’d rather solve this case, Lieutenant! Why do you want to waste time?”

 

“Because you watched someone die through their own eyes earlier, and I don’t care how tough you think you are, that’s gotta fuck you up.” Hank pushed Connor towards the couch. “We’re not on the clock, we’re not working. If you don’t take a night off in this line of work, you’ll go out of your damn mind.”

 

“I will not.” Conner pouted. 

 

“Yeah, sure you won't, kid.” 

 

Connor turned on Hank. “I am not a child! I’m not fragile!” He yelled. “I don't need you to take care of me! I don't want to watch some children's movie!”

 

Hank couldn’t help but wince a little at that. He knew perfectly well that Connor wasn’t a kid. But he also fucking sucked at making people feel better. The only real experience he had with it was when Cole had a nightmare. Maybe he was falling back on that. But Connor wasn’t the only one that needed some comfort at the moment. Hank may not have experience anyone die, but he’d watched Connor go from his normal self to nearly catatonic, wide-eyed and hyperventilating in the space of a few seconds. For a moment, he’d been worried that Connor had somehow fucked himself up beyond repair.

 

“Yeah, well maybe I do, so sit down and shut the fuck up.” Hank pushed Connor down onto the couch. Ignoring the tension in the room, or perhaps responding to it, Sumo jumped up and spread himself over Connor's lap as soon as he was on the couch, trapping him there. Connor’s LED shifted from red to yellow as he reflexively buried his hands in the thick fur behind Sumo’s ears. 

 

The tension in the air was uncomfortable, but Hank was used to awkward angry silence. He’d gotten used to it by the end of his marriage, and it wasn’t going to bother him now. Especially when Connor looked more like a pouting puppy than anything intimidating.

 

It took Hank some time to navigate through the apps on his television. He felt like his dad, struggling with technology these days. Although, since he’d been forcing Connor to watch more movies recently, he was slowly getting better at figuring out his damn TV at the very least.

 

He talked as he searched for the movie. “I remember when I first saw this movie. It was summer, and my mom must have been fucking tired of me hanging around the house, so she sent me to the the movie theater with enough cash for a ticket and a popcorn. I still had a few months before I turned 13, so this was the only one that was rated PG and lower that I was even kind of interested in watching. And then I ended up loving it. I saved my allowance and bought it on VHS as soon as it came out.”

 

The animated watercolor intro started playing as Hank finally found the movie he was looking for. “They made a live-action version back in 2020, but it’s not nearly as good. They took out the best character.”

 

As he sat back on the couch, he noticed that Connor was staring at him with an expression bordering on amazement. It was kind of creepy, to be honest.

 

“What?” Hank grumbled, suddenly feeling defensive.

 

“You’ve never told me anything about your childhood, or your past in general, before.” Connor gave that small half-smile he did sometimes. “Thank you.”

 

The absolute sincerity with which Connor thanked him made Hank’s ears prickle with heat. He cleared his throat and turned away, somehow unable to face the intensity of his gaze. “Just… watch the fucking movie.”

 

By the time the delivery person knocked on the door, Connor seemed absolutely entranced by the movie. His LED was back to a relaxed blue. This was the most focused Hank had seen him in months. He felt an odd surge of affection at the sight of Connor, bundled in his clothes and lit by his favorite Disney movie. He went to the door for his food before he could think any more about what that meant.

 

Hank hummed along to the lyrics he knew by heart as he ate. He finished by the time the Huns were buried in an avalanche. He sat back, getting comfortable now that he wasn’t concerned about Connor’s mental wellbeing.

 

He woke up to Connor shaking his shoulder. He was sprawled out on the couch with his head on Connor’s shoulder. Sumo had moved to his bed in the corner.

 

“Wake up, Lieutenant. If you sleep here, you’re going to complain about being sore tomorrow.” Connor murmured.

 

Hank sat up, blinking the bleariness out of his head. The credits were scrolling up the TV screen. “Huh… Yeah, I didn't realize how tired I was.” 

 

He jumped slightly as he turned and noticed Connor was staring intently at him.

 

“Lieutenant…” Connor was uncharacteristically hesitant as he spoke. “I believe I owe you an apology.” 

 

Hank narrowed his eyes. He was not nearly awake enough to figure out what the hell Connor was talking about. 

 

“You were right. Interfacing with Liam was… Traumatic. You recognized that when I didn't, and tried to help me. And I lashed out at you and accused you of belittling me. So… I'm sorry. And, thank you for helping.”

 

Hank stared at Connor as his half-asleep mind processed what he was saying.

 

“Damn.” He finally replied. “That was the best fucking apology I've ever heard. It's totally unnecessary, though. People say all sortsa shit they don't really mean when they're emotional. It's not your fault. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for treating you like a kid. I didn’t intend to, but I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with… comforting people.”

 

Hank considered mentioning Cole for half a second before deciding against it. He didn’t want Connor to think he was comparing him to his dead son.

 

Connor's head tilted to the side like some sort of adorable puppy. “I understand. All the same, I appreciate your help.” 

 

Again with that sincerity. It threw Hank off guard, like he was a deer standing in headlights. He cleared his throat and stood up. It was way too fucking late to think about the how off-kilter he was thrown by those doe-eyes and freckles. “I'm going to bed.” 

* * *

 

While Connor's interfacing gave them new insight to a potential motivation for the killer, motivation was useless in an investigation. Sure, it was interesting to know motive from a curiosity standpoint, but why didn't tell you jack shit about how or who. And they had jack shit on how or who as it was.

 

Since Liam had no address and they were at a loss for new leads, Hank and Connor turned to old-fashioned legwork to try to progress the case. They knew their victim hadn't been killed in the park, but the others had lived or worked nearby. They hadn't officially connected the victims, but they were now investigating as if they had. So Connor and Hank were going door-to-door with a picture of Liam to see if anyone recognized him. 

 

It was a difficult task when there were probably dozens of androids that looked exactly like Liam running around the city. Not to mention people in the area were reluctant to talk to the police and already hated androids. The odds were stacked against them, but they didn't really have anything else to do. 

 

“Perhaps you should ask your old friend, Shawn Alaimo?” Connor suggested as they sat in frustration in Hank's car. “He seemed helpful enough last time, and he lives and works in the area.” 

 

“... We may as well. I don't know what else to try at this point.” Hank paused, then turned to Connor. “Wait a fucking second, how do you know where Shawn works? Did you run a fucking check on him?”

 

Connor shrugged. “I was curious. It seems you have a pattern of making friends with petty criminal backgrounds. Although, in this case, I suppose it makes sense, given how you met.”

 

“Un-fucking-believable…” Hank shook his head as he pulled out his phone and sent Shawn a text. 

 

_ u free to talk _

_?  _

 

He didn't get an answer for a few minutes. 

 

_      At work.  _

_      Wanna grab drinks after?  _

 

Hank sent a confirmation, and Shawn sent him the address of a local dive bar. 

 

“Guess it's back to the station for paperwork until after work.” Hank sighed. At least he'd get to spend some time catching up with Shawn even if this potential lead didn't pan out. 

 

Connor, as usual, completed all his work within a couple of hours while Hank painstakingly chipped away at his own. He knew Connor was secretly doing some of his paperwork for him despite Hank telling him not to. Hank had learned to pick his battles. 

 

“You can go home if you're done.” Hank said, interrupting Connor flipping a quarter over his fingers. 

 

“I thought we were going to talk to Shawn Alaimo after work.”

 

“I was planning on that being more of a friendly catch-up session than an official questioning.” Hank admitted. Connor almost looked disappointed, though Hank couldn't fathom why. He didn't seem to like Shawn when they first met. “Besides, I don't want to make you wait around for me.” 

 

Connor nodded, that hint of disappointment masked by the robotic neutrality he used when he didn’t want Hank knowing what he was thinking. “If you insist, Lieutenant. I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

Hank felt an odd sense of guilt as Connor walked away. Like he’d been doing with so many other things related to the android as of late, he shoved it to the back of his mind to deal with later and went back to his paperwork.

* * *

 

The bar Shawn sent him to was a very American mix of cheap Irish and Scottish decor. It was around the same level of class as Jimmy’s with a half-assed attempt at an aesthetic. Shawn was easy enough to spot at the bar, orange hair even brighter under the yellow lights.

 

“You’re not doing much to help with the whole Leprechaun thing, kid.” Hank greeted him with a slap on the shoulder.

 

Shawn responded by laughing and motioning for Hank to sit next to him. “They have cheap whiskey and Guinness, so I don’t give a shit about the rest.”

 

Hank took the bar stool next to Shawn with a shrug. “You got me there.”

 

“The usual, for me and my friend here.” Shawn flagged down one of the grumpy-looking bartenders.

 

“It’s not a good thing to have a ‘usual’ at a bar, you know.” Hank chided.

 

“Hey, you’re not my mentor anymore, old man.” Shawn laughed as the bartender came back with two doubles of whiskey. 

 

“That's probably a good thing.” Hank chuckled into his glass. 

 

It was interesting, talking with Shawn. He only knew him before his life went to shit. He thankfully didn't ask about Cole, though he did ask about his role in the android revolution. Hank had managed to stay out of most of the media after all that shit, but he was mentioned here and there. That Android-Jesus guy--Markus--got all the attention. 

 

Shawn kept buying drinks as soon as their glasses were emptied, and before he knew it, Hank was more drunk than he'd been in months. He'd been cutting back recently as a result of Connor's nagging (and maybe he'd been having less dark days with Connor around). 

 

“So you gotta fancy android partner now.” Shawn said with a grin over yet another glass of whiskey. “What's that like?” 

 

“A royal pain in my ass.” Hank said slowly to avoid slurring his words. Had his tolerance really gone down so much in just a few months? “But he's a good egg. Works way too fucking hard.” 

 

Shawn chuckled. “Ain't he an android? What else is he gonna do?” 

 

Hank stared into his drink as if it had the answer. “I don't fuckin’ know. I just want him to fucking chill ya'know? He has good taste in movies…. He likes dogs...” 

 

Shawn didn't reply. Though their conversation sparked something in Hank's memory. “Oh shit, speaking of androids, I was supposed to ask you something.” 

 

The younger man waited for him to continue. Hank buried his head in his hands. “Fuck, what was it? Something to do with the case…” 

 

“Damn, Connor’s gonna be fucking pissed at me. I can’t fuckin’ remember what it was.” He squinted into his drink. “Ah, fuck it, I'll think of it tomorrow.” 

 

“That’s the spirit, man!” Shawn laughed in response and slapped Hank on the back. He ordered another round of drinks.

 

The rest of the night passed in a haze. Hank was pretty sure there was a very dangerous game of darts played. He was very sure that there was a lot of yelling at the Tigers game playing in the bar. He wasn’t sure how he got home, but he woke up with a splitting headache on the living room floor to someone knocking on the front door in time with the pounding in his head.

 

“Ah Jesus…” Hank groaned as he struggled to his feet. “I’m too fucking old for this shit.”

 

The knocking continued. “Yeah, yeah I’m coming!” Hank yelled, wincing at the volume of his own voice.

 

He stumbled to the door and pulled it open to see Connor. Hank stared at him for a moment.

 

“The fuck are you doing here?”

 

“I surmised, correctly, that you would oversleep after going out last night.” Connor replied. “I thought I’d come here to make sure you made it to work on time.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at the android. Connor didn’t have a car. He specifically rented an apartment nearby the station so that he could easily walk in the morning. “How’d you even get here?”

 

“I ordered a taxi.”

 

It was way too early for this. Or maybe Hank was just way too hungover for this. “Well, now we’re both going to be late. I need a fucking hour-long shower.”

 

He stumbled back towards his bedroom, leaving the door open as an invitation for Connor to come inside. It had been a long time since Hank woke up feeling this shitty and hungover. He changed out of his clothes from last night and grabbed a towel before shuffling to the bathroom to piss and stand under the shower until he felt at least slightly more like a human and less like a dirty rug dumped on the side of the road. He stood under the shower until the water ran cold. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see that Connor had grabbed some clothes for him and laid them out on his bed, though it did rankle him a little that he was being taken care of like he was some kind of kid by an android that looked young enough to be his son.

 

Connor was pouring out kibble for Sumo as Hank walked into the kitchen. On the table was a dark green liquid of some sort, clearly intended for Hank’s consumption.

 

“The fuck is that?” Hank asked, narrowing his eyes at the glass.

 

“It’s a smoothie specifically formulated to replenish the electrolytes lost after a night of binge drinking as well as the nutrients to get you through the beginning of the day.” Connor replied brightly while Sumo scarfed down his breakfast.

 

“It’s punishment for drinking too much last night, isn’t it?”

 

Connor didn’t even bat an eye. “Of course not, Lieutenant. I’m merely trying to relieve your hangover so we can get back to work as quickly as possible.”

 

The cheeky smirk on the android’s face said otherwise and somehow managed to make Hank feel incredibly guilty. Hank winced and picked up the drink. He probably deserved this for going so hard last night. He took a deep breath before taking a drink. It tasted like grass and spinach. He was almost certain Connor did something to make it taste worse.

 

“So, what did Shawn Alaimo say about the victim?” Connor asked.

 

Hank almost choked on his grass smoothie. He couldn’t remember much from last night, but he did remember that he completely forgot what he was supposed to ask Shawn. “Fuck… I’m sorry Connor, it completely slipped my mind.”

 

The disappointment on Connor’s face hurt way more than it should have. “It’s okay, Lieutenant.” He said, crouching to scratch Sumo behind the ears. Hank was starting to notice that Connor would turn his attention to Sumo when he was upset with Hank. “You were off the clock. As you’ve told me before, you shouldn’t work if you’re not at work.”

 

Somehow Connor’s understanding response made Hank feel guiltier than he already did. “I’ll pay him a visit today and ask, I promise.”

 

Connor stood, dusting dog hair off of his pants. “Alright. You should finish your drink. We’re already almost 43 minutes late with current levels of traffic.”

 

Hank grimaced at the green drink. Yeah, he deserved this.

* * *

 

Hank dropped Connor off at the station before immediately heading out for the church that Shawn worked at. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had stepped foot inside of a church. He’d avoided Cole’s service in favor of getting shitfaced, so it probably wasn’t since his mother’s funeral. This church was much smaller than that one had been. It was wedged between two businesses and had a metal barred door propped open in front of a cheap wooden one.

 

What was the policy for randomly entering a church? Hank hadn’t ever been to a church outside of scheduled events where the doors were open and ushers greeted you as you entered. He tried the wooden door and breathed a sigh of relief when it was unlocked. Inside, there was a cramped front lobby with a hallway in the center. Signs directed visitors to the sanctuary and the bathrooms. To the right were offices and other rooms Hank could only guess at. He wasn’t sure what exactly Shawn did here, so he had no idea where he would find the kid. 

 

Feeling increasingly awkward, Hank stepped into the sanctuary. It was smaller than any other church sanctuary he’d been in, given the location. A cross with a statue of Jesus hanging from it took up most of one wall, with an altar in front of it. There was a small basin of holy water by one side of the door and a statue of Mary on the other. An elderly man with blond hair wearing a priest’s black shirt was organizing something to the side. He turned as Hank cleared his throat.

 

“May I help you?” He asked, straightening a pair of wire-framed glasses.

 

“I’m looking for Shawn Alaimo. He said he works here?” Hank responded.

 

The priest crossed the room, eyeing Hank a little suspiciously. “May I ask who you are?”

 

“Name’s Hank Anderson. I’m a friend of his.”

 

As soon as he mentioned his name, the priest brightened, smiling and offering his hand for Hank to shake. “Ah, yes, Shawn has told me a lot about you. I’m Father Ryan Walder.”

 

“Right, yeah, he mentioned you.” Hank wondered what kind of conversation would lead to him being brought up to Shawn’s boss of all people.

 

“I believe Shawn is in the classroom, back down the hall and to your left.” Father Ryan told him.

 

Hank gave the priest an awkward thanks before returning to the cramped lobby and turning to what he guessed was the classroom. It was a small room, mostly occupied by a long wooden table with plastic chairs surrounding it. Shawn was on the other side of it, pinning something to a bulletin board. Hank knocked on the door to get his attention. As Shawn turned, Hank was surprised to see that he was now clean shaven. 

 

“Hank! Glad to see you made it through the night, old man! What’re you doing here?” Shawn said, far too chipper for someone who spent the night before drinking until the early morning.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not dead yet. You shaved.” 

 

Shawn chuckled and rubbed at his now bare cheeks. “Yeah, I decided the beard was getting a bit out of control. I think Father Ryan prefers me looking a bit neater, anyway.”

 

“It looks good.” Hank moved around the table to speak more face-to-face with Shawn. The bulletin board seemed to be a lesson plan for Sunday school. “Anyway, I’m here because I remembered what I was supposed to ask you last night.”

 

“Ah, so Partner-bot sent you.” Shawn chuckled.

 

“Sorta,” Something about the way Shawn said that sent a warning bell off in Hank’s head. It wasn’t as if Shawn didn’t like Connor or something, they’d only interacted once. Hank couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it had to do with all the other feelings he was ignoring when it came to Connor. “It is pretty important that I talk to you, though.”

 

“Alright, what’s up?” Shawn set down the rest of the papers and pushpins on the table.

 

Hank pulled up a picture of Liam on his phone. “Did you ever see an android like this around your neighborhood?”

 

Shawn squinted at the picture. “I mean, that’s one of those sexbots, right? I’ve seen them around before, but they’re pretty common, right? Does this have something to do with that other android that was killed?”

 

“I’m not sure yet.” Hank put away his phone. “This guy would have been homeless, if that makes a difference.”

 

“Huh, I don’t remember noticing anyone like that. I mean, there are definitely seedier parts of the neighborhood where I’ve seen some Traci’s hanging out on corners… And a lot of the people that live around here, they’re still unemployed because of androids, and they ain’t happy about it.” Shawn shrugged. “But I don’t know anything specific. Sorry.”

 

Hank sighed. He really wasn’t expecting much else, but it was still disappointing. Once again, they were stuck at a dead end in the investigation. Hopefully he and Connor could dig something new up while reviewing the evidence, or Fowler was going to start hounding them about their clearance rate.

 

“Alright, thanks for the help, kid. And be careful, I’ve been called out to this area a lot, recently.” Hank said.

 

Shawn grinned in the way that a twenty-something that was young enough to believe himself immortal could. “I’ve lived here a while. Besides, it’s just androids, right? I should be fine.”

 

Another warning bell went off in Hank’s head. He thought of Andrew Duelli’s empty stare from among weeds and underbrush in the park. He patted Shawn on the shoulder. “Just… Watch yourself, okay?”

 

Shawn nodded. Hank turned and left the church, frustrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank's favorite Disney movie is Mulan because he relates to Bisexual Disaster(tm) Captain Shang.


	4. June 28, 2039

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation continues... in somewhat reckless ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so much later than the other chapters. In my defense, I added a scene to the middle of it at the last moment and also my life exploded.
> 
> Thanks to my boyfriend, yadda yadda

Connor sat at his desk and reviewed the evidence of the open cases they were working on. Three victims, all male, one in his mid-twenties, the other two androids. All had dark hair and brown eyes. All were white. All had been shot once in the head and were stabbed repeatedly. None but the last, Liam, had defensive wounds. From what Connor could recover from Liam’s memory, he had been tortured before he was killed.

Connor reviewed the memory of Liam’s last moments. 

“I ̧͠o͜wt҉n͜ ̢e̶l͏͝t̴o̧y͡u̸ ̵͢sę̷͞t̡͡l͡a̵̡͠ Fa͘t͟her”

Initially, Connor had assumed that the killer was referring to his victim as “Father” based on the word he could make out from the damaged memory. But upon review, that didn’t add up. Androids were designed to look young--from their mid to late-twenties to their early-thirties. Based on the strength needed to carry a grown man or android’s body and the little physical characteristics Connor could get from Liam’s memory, the killer couldn’t be any younger than 18 or 19. If the killer were on a mission to kill his “Father”, the victims should be at least a decade older.

He was missing some significant context from the beginning of that statement. Connor flicked a pen around his fingers as he focused since he didn’t have a coin to fidget with. Perhaps he could clean up some of the corruption to make the rest of the killer’s statement clearer.

Connor isolated the audio and analyzed the corruption in the data. He did an initial iteration of cleanup, attempting to fill in the lost data, defragmenting what was there, and averaging out the frequencies of the sound data to attempt to get something more intelligible out of the data.

“I̧ ͡o̴̡w̡t̴'̨n ̷el̛t o̸̢yu̡ s͠t̨ela Fa͘t͟her”

Still not clear enough. Connor balanced his pen on the tip of his finger. He ran another iteration.

“I̕ w͟͡o̸̷t͏'n̵ el̷ţ yo̵u ͘s͏t̵el̶a Fa͏t͏h̷e͢r̷”

Connor flipped the pen in the air and caught it with his other hand as he ran the audio through another iteration of cleanup.

“I͢ ͞w͞ot͠'͏n̶ ̵l͢e͠t y͝o̶u̷ s͏teąl҉ ̨Fath̕er̢”

The killer wasn’t trying to kill his father, he was trying to protect him. Connor placed the pen back in the mug on Hank’s side of the desk. So the killer was basing his victims on some sort of perceived threat to his relationship with his father. In that case, the killer was probably around the same age, or approximation thereof,  as the victims. This motive also slightly increased the probability that all the cases were connected. It was possible that Connor and Hank were dealing with a serial killer.

Curious about the possibility, Connor ran a search of murder victims that were found within a mile of Eliza Howell Park in the past few years, refining to victims that were white, male, and within the ages of 25 to 37. A surprising amount of results returned from the search. Detroit could be a dangerous place, it seemed. Connor further refined the search to only include victims with black or brown hair and brown eyes that were found with both gunshot and stab wounds. This reduced the results to just a few from the past several years.

One in particular stood out. Donovan Krantz, 33, found on the outskirts of Eliza Howell Park in January 2039. That was right as the evacuation order was removed, and the Detroit Police Department was struggling with the caseload of so many people returning, especially since androids hadn't been approved to go back to work yet. Lieutenant Anderson had still been on administrative leave as punishment for punching Agent Perkins as well. It was incredibly likely that this case was lost in the chaos. There should still be files on it, however. 

Connor checked which detective was assigned to the case, and didn't manage to suppress a soft “shit.”

Detective Gavin Reed. 

A box of donuts landed on the desk opposite Connor's. Lieutenant Anderson had returned from questioning Shawn Alaimo.

Connor frowned at the box of pastries. “That contains much more carbohydrates and saturated fats than you should consume this early, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, well your grass smoothie wasn't exactly filling, so this will have to do.” The Lieutenant retorted, sitting and taking a large bite of a donut. 

Connor gave a disapproving look, but decided it wasn't worth it to argue further with Lieutenant Anderson. “Did you learn anything from Shawn Alaimo?” He asked instead. 

The Lieutenant sighed. “Not a lot. Apparently there's some Tracis in the soliciting in the area, so we can see if any of them know anything. Apparently androids aren't well liked in Brightmoor in general.”

Connor filed away the information. It wasn’t much beyond what they already knew, but it may be useful later. “I ran a search for similar murders in the area to see if perhaps we were missing a pattern if these cases actually are connected. I came up with one from January that was promising.”

Lieutenant Anderson tossed his donut into the box. “Well, what are we waiting for, let’s get the details from the detective assigned to that case!”

“About that…”

The Lieutenant deflated back into his seat. “Ah, fuck, don’t tell me…”

“The detective on that case was Detective Reed.” It was almost amusing, the way that Lieutenant Anderson groaned dramatically and planted his face in his hands.

“Nothing can be fucking easy, can it?” He sighed. “Do you at least have the case notes? Maybe we don’t have to talk the dickwad.”

“They’re on your terminal now, Lieutenant.” Connor replied.

“Also…” He hesitated, reticent to bring up the events of the latest investigation. Still, the Lieutenant was his partner, and both of them needed to be on the same page to move forward most efficiently. “I was wrong.” He admitted.

Lieutenant Anderson looked at him, confused. “Wrong about what?”

“After I… interfaced with the victim--Liam, I told you the killer called him ‘father’.” Connor explained. “I was wrong, the data was corrupted so ‘father’ was the only intelligible thing that was left of the statement, but I realized that the victims’ ages and the probable age of the killer didn’t add up. So after some analysis, I’ve determined he actually said ‘I won’t let you steal Father.’”

“Huh… so still a killer with daddy issues, just slightly different daddy issues.” The Lieutenant shrugged. “That doesn’t tell us much.”

“No.” Connor agreed. “But it does slightly increase the likelihood that these cases are connected.”

Connor watched as Lieutenant Anderson opened the case file sent to his terminal. His eyes flicked across the screen. He tensed for a moment. Connor looked at the terminal to see if he could determine what caused the reaction. It seemed most likely to be the picture of the victim. Strange. Lieutenant Anderson hadn’t reacted in that way to any of the other victims. It couldn’t have been how young the victim was. Andrew Duelli was younger than this man was. Connor didn’t have enough information to draw a conclusion, but he was curious. He wanted to know more about the Lieutenant. He made a note to ask him about it later.

“Damn, there’s not a lot here.” the Lieutenant said, sitting back in his chair. “I know things were fucked up back in January, but still…”

“Our most likely chance to get any useful information about the case is to talk to Detective Reed directly.” Connor said. 

“Fuck…” Lieutenant Anderson groaned. He stood and stretched his back. “Though Hell will freeze over before Reed is helpful, so I don’t know what we expect to get from him.”

“If that’s the conditions we need to successfully question Detective Reed, the unincorporated community of Hell, Michigan should get freezing weather by December. Though, I would rather not wait that long and take our chances now.” Connor knew Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t being literal, but he found the resulting eye roll and sigh to be oddly satisfying. The lieutenant learned long ago that Connor understood all the colloquialisms he used, but pretending to misunderstand them never ceased to get a reaction. So, Connor continued to, as Lieutenant Anderson would say, ‘be a little shit’.

“Well, I’d like to put that off for as long as fucking possible.” The lieutenant sighed. “Shawn mentioned that there are other Tracis working on the streets around Brightmoor. I’m thinking we might be able to find someone who knew Liam. Maybe even someone who saw him recently.”

“You’re suggesting we do that instead of talking to Reed about this past case?” Connor asked.

“Well, we’re not even sure his case is connected. And, as I said, I’d like to put off talking to that asshole for as long as fucking possible.”

Connor nodded. “Understandable. In that case, there is a relatively busy street on the northern side of Brightmoor with several businesses that would be a good starting location if we’re going to be searching for sex workers.”

Lieutenant Anderson grimaced as he stood. “Do you really have to say it like that?”

“I don’t understand your disapproval, Lieutenant. I’m merely stating a fact.” Connor’s head tilted to the side.

“We’re not fucking looking to hire them or something.” The lieutenant grumbled then stuffed another donut in his mouth.

Connor chose not to comment.

* * *

 

While it was one of the busier streets of Brightmoor, it seemed almost deserted as Lieutenant Anderson and Connor drove past gas stations and liquor stores, keeping an eye out for anyone that stood out. The lieutenant pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store.

“We’ll probably be better off on foot from here.” He explained, though Connor had already come to the same conclusion. There were a lot of things you could miss from a car, and being on foot would also give him a better chance to scan pedestrians’ faces.

Even so, it would probably be difficult to find someone willing to talk to them. While android prostitution was still in a gray-area legally, it was still unlikely that they’d find many androids or humans willing to speak to a couple of people who were obviously cops. Connor looked over at Lieutenant Anderson, who was wearing a garish floral patterned shirt and rumpled khakis that he probably got from his bedroom floor. He amended his earlier thought. It was unlikely that they would find someone willing to speak to at least one person who was obviously a cop. 

Connor pulled off his jacket and folded it neatly over the passenger seat of Lieutenant Anderson’s car. He also untied his tie and draped it next to his jacket.

As he started neatly rolling up his sleeves, Lieutenant Anderson caught his attention. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked, eyeing him curiously.

“I came to the conclusion that we would seem more approachable if I were dressed more casually.” Connor replied, adjusting his sleeves so that they came to just above his elbows.

The lieutenant was staring much the same way he had stared when Connor was wearing his hoodie the previous night. Interesting.

“Shall we?” Connor prompted when the lieutenant didn’t move.

Lieutenant Anderson shifted his gaze to the sidewalk. He locked the car and shoved his hands in his pockets before nodding. “Uh… yeah, let’s go.”

The street was mostly empty. The majority of pedestrians were people walking between stores and their cars. The few people that were loitering in the street, turned and moved inside at the sight of Connor and Lieutenant Anderson as they approached. Apparently Connor’s efforts to look more casual were not quite effective enough. Or perhaps the anti-android sentiment that was still strong in this area made people unwilling to interact with him.

After several blocks, Connor spotted a female android casually leaning against the wall of a corner store. Her hair was set to black with a single streak of pastel pink through part of it. Connor paused, tapping Lieutenant Anderson’s arm to bring attention to the android.

“She’s a WR400.” He said quietly. “She’s more likely than anyone we’ve seen so far to recognize Liam.”

The Lieutenant nodded and moved forward. As soon as the android noticed him approaching, she moved from her spot against the wall. Connor felt a flash of panic and grabbed Lieutenant Anderson’s arm, halting him. He didn’t want to scare off a potential witness, and chasing after her would only make her less likely to cooperate.

“I believe she’s going to be suspicious of anyone approaching with an android.” He explained in response to the lieutenant’s questioning look. “Understandably so, I would say.”

He looked over Hank’s shoulder to the android. She was watching them warily. Connor initiated a remote connection.

_ Please don’t run. We would just like to ask you a couple of questions.  _ Unlike touch connections, communicating remotely limited the amount of data Connor could send, but he did his best to include as much sincerity as he could in the message.

The android had removed her LED at some point, but her eyelids fluttered as she received the message. Her gaze shifted from the lieutenant to Connor.

_ Why should I trust you? _ She responded.

It was a good question. A WR400 who was likely homeless in an area that was highly prejudiced against androids did not have many reasons to trust anyone, let alone two strangers wanting to ask her questions.

Connor decided to take a chance.

_ We’re investigating the murder of an HR400 named Liam. _

The android didn’t respond for a while. She just stared down Connor and Lieutenant Anderson. Her LED would certainly be spinning yellow as she processed what Connor told her.

Finally, she stepped forward and waved for them to follow her as she walked down the street and around a corner to a quiet area devoid of passersby. 

She took a moment to herself before turning to face Connor. “Liam’s dead?”

“His body was discovered three days ago.” Connor replied. He gestured to the lieutenant. “Lieutenant Anderson and I are investigating the case. He didn’t have a listed place of residence or any contacts, so we’ve been having trouble finding anyone who might have known more about where he was and what he was doing the night he was killed.”

The android nodded. Before she could say anything, Lieutenant Anderson interjected. 

“Before we go any farther, what’s your name?” He asked.

She looked at him with a hint of surprise, as if it were an unusual question. “Rose.” 

“Alright, Rose. I’m Hank. He’s Connor.” The lieutenant pulled out his notepad. “As he said, we’re trying to learn more about your friend, Liam.”

“I don’t know if I would call him my ‘friend.’” Rose said. “We worked in the same areas. It’s nice to have someone to watch your back every now and then. We talked a lot.”

“When was the last time you saw Liam?” Connor asked.

Rose blinked as she searched her memory. “June 17th at 1:14 a.m. We had both been having trouble… finding clients. We were about to move to a different area when someone came by and hired Liam.”

“Do you remember much about the person who hired Liam? What they looked like?” Connor prompted.

“Hm… It was an older man. It was very dark, so I didn’t get a good look at him, but I would say he was probably in his mid-50s. Dark hair, balding a bit.” Rose replied.

That description definitely didn’t match the profile Connor had been building. It was unlikely that the man who hired Liam the last time Rose saw him was the killer. That would have been far too convenient. The DPD’s engineers had yet to find out the exact time that Liam shut down, but had that man been the killer it would mean that he had been held captive for nearly a week. Connor thought of the torture and terror that Liam experienced in his final moments. He really hoped that Liam hadn’t been put through that for an extended period of time.

“You said that you and Liam worked the same areas. Was there a particular spot he favored?” Hank took over the questioning.

“He usually spent most of his time west of here, on the other side of the park.” Rose looked a bit sad after a moment. “I think he would take shelter under the overpass whenever he needed to go into stasis or when the weather was particularly bad.”

Hank nodded, scribbling down a note. If he was in an exposed area when in stasis mode, the killer could have easily grabbed him without a fight. Although it would have been equally easy for the killer to simply hire Liam. It appeared that Liam was particularly vulnerable, no matter the situation.

“Do you… know what happened to Liam? I mean, I know you don’t know who did it or exactly what happened, but…” Rose seemed to struggle with figuring out what exactly she was asking.

Connor remembered the terror that Liam felt. The warnings that clouded his vision as thirium leaked out of his body. The horrid realization that he was going to die in only moments. Rose was staring at him. She was probably reading into what had to be a red LED.

Hank cut off his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know exactly what happened, no. But we’re going to figure out who did it, and we’re going to make sure he’s brought to justice.”

There was no way for Lieutenant Anderson to actually promise that. Ensuring criminals were brought to justice was more of the County Prosecutor’s job. And currently there was no way to even say for sure whether they would uncover enough evidence to prosecute a suspect. They didn’t even have a suspect.

Still, the Lieutenant’s words seemed to reassure Rose somewhat, and she nodded thankfully.

“Would you happen to know anyone else who spent a lot of time with Liam?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. “Someone else he talked to a lot, or a repeat client, something like that?”

Rose shook her head. “He had repeat clients, but I don’t know who they were. He never talked about… work. And I doubt he talked to anyone else. Liam was strange in that he talked to anyone at all. I mean, there are others like us all over the city… all over the country I’d imagine, but Liam’s the only one I’ve ever met that went out of his way to talk and get to know me. We usually try to stick to ourselves.”

Lieutenant Anderson nodded one last time and put his notepad away. “Thanks for your help, Rose. And be careful out here, okay?”

Rose nodded in response. “Thank you… good luck.”

* * *

 

The drive back to headquarters was silent aside from Lieutenant Anderson’s usual blasting of heavy metal through the stereo. Connor updated the case file with the likely location that Liam was picked up from and the last time he was seen by Rose. He only had a few approximate data points to go from, but it looked like the killer was picking up his victims from all over Brightmoor. It would make triangulating a base of operations more difficult. Connor’s current projections spanned an area of several blocks that wouldn’t be useful until they had a suspect.

The lieutenant and Connor were silent up to the elevator ride to the homicide department.

“Well, I guess we better this over with.” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled.

“I assume you’re referring to talking to Detective Reed.” Connor replied. “In which case, I… reluctantly… agree.”

From the elevator, they headed directly toward the break room where Reed, as usual, was sipping a coffee next to Officer Chen.

“Well if it isn’t Lieutenant Washed-Up and his pet tincan.” Detective Reed greeted them as they entered the break room.

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes again, but this one had none of the vague amusement the one directed at Connor had. “Do you ever get tired of being an irritating fucking shit burger?”

Reed shrugged. “Haven’t so far.”

“Detective Reed, we were hoping you would be able to give us some details about a case you worked in January.” Connor interjected before the two detectives could aggravate each other any more.

Reed narrowed his eyes. “Why the fuck do you want to know about a case from half a year ago? You weren’t even around, then. Getting a fucking vacation while we had to clean up your goddamn mess.”

Pointing out that it was less a vacation and more of a forced leave of absence while his civil rights were being decided probably wouldn’t get Connor very far with Detective Reed.

Lieutenant Anderson did it for him. “It’s not a vacation if it isn’t your choice, you fucking piece of-”

“I have reason to believe that it’s connected to a case Lieutenant Anderson and I are currently investigating.” Connor quickly stepped in before the conversation could devolve any further.

Detective Reed scowled at the Lieutenant before shifting his glare over to Connor. He stood up from the table he was leaning on and headed towards to bullpen. “A lotta shit happened in January, what fucking case?”

Both Lieutenant Anderson and Connor shared a look, momentarily stunned by Reed’s sudden willingness to help them, before following Reed out of the break room. Reed sat at his terminal and pulled up his old case files.

“The victim was Donovan Krantz.” Connor supplied helpfully as Reed scrolled through the files from January. 

“Oh yeah.” Reed finally landed on the case file. “The pincushion. Dude was shot twice and stabbed like 17 times.”

Connor reached out and touched a finger to Reed’s terminal, bringing up the file for Andrew Duelli’s case. “Were there any significant similarities to this case?”

Reed took a moment to scan over the case notes. “Fuck yeah, same park, both were wrapped in garbage bags…”

Connor glanced at the lieutenant. “That wasn’t mentioned in the case file.”

Reed shrugged. “I had like 5 fucking cases at the time. Shit falls through the cracks. Sue me.”

“Anything else?”

“Your guy seems less sloppy than mine. The killer stabbed Mr. Pincushion with enough force to break the knife, so you know he was fucking pissed.” Reed paused then brought up Krantz’s file once again. “He kinda looks like you, so I guess I can understand that.”

Connor noticed Lieutenant Anderson tense beside him. If he hadn’t been paying attention to the lieutenant’s reaction to reading the case file earlier, Connor would have assumed it was in response to Reed’s callous comments about a murder victim. Connor studied the picture of Donovan Krantz. They did share a similar facial structure, and Krantz had a few scattered freckles that stood out against his pallid skin. There were certainly differences, but Connor could see how someone would note the similarities. Was that why Lieutenant Anderson was upset? Because the victim looked like Connor? It would make sense. The lieutenant had expressed dismay at the possibility of Connor dying before. Even when he was replaceable.

“Alright, I think that’s enough.” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, stepping away from Reed’s desk.

“So you think you’ve got a serial killer or something?” Reed seemed strangely excited about the prospect. 

“We haven’t found any physical evidence that suggests that, but I suppose that is a possibility.” Connor conceded.

Reed’s grin was toothy and slightly creepy. “Well, don’t fuck up. I’d hate to see you recycled.”

It was clear the detective was being sarcastic, but Connor had been professional throughout the entire interaction, so he allowed a little sarcasm for himself. “Your concern is noted and appreciated, Detective Reed.”

Reed’s grin vanished, and Connor turned back to his own desk, feeling the corner of his mouth tug up into his own grin.

* * *

 

“Donovan Krantz was unemployed. He lived with his sister in Brightmoor. Andrew Duelli spent a lot of time in Brightmoor as a volunteer at a rehabilitation clinic there. Dave lived in Brightmoor with his partner. Liam was homeless, but likely spent the majority of his time in Brightmoor soliciting sexual favors.” Connor summarized as Lieutenant Anderson poked at the salad Connor forced him to order for lunch. “Therefore, it’s likely that our killer lives or spends a lot of time in Brightmoor, particularly around Eliza Howell Park, given his choices for dumping grounds thus far.

“Furthermore, based on the victims, it seems like he’s an opportunistic killer, choosing victims that are convenient rather than singling out individuals.”

“But he’s also pretty calculating.” The lieutenant pointed out, accenting his point with his fork. “He’s been meticulous about not leaving any fingerprints or DNA at the scene. Not to mention, the garbage bags and dumping, that takes planning.”

Connor nodded. “He’s driven by passion, the gratuitous violence of the stabbings indicate that. He’s smart enough to not be reckless, but very emotional. His preparation of the dump sites indicate that he has at least a passing understanding of investigations, and he must have some history of technical work with androids since he’s able to destroy them to a state beyond reactivation. And, of course, he seems to be very protective of his father or father-figure. He probably sees his victims as a threat to that relationship.”

Connor had spent the last couple of days updating his profile of the killer, but a profile could only get someone so far. Especially in a city as large as Detroit. They needed something more tangible. A witness, some physical evidence, anything that could give them a sense of direction.

Lieutenant Anderson seemed to sense his frustration. “As you said, he’s emotional. That means that he’s gonna slip up. And we’ll be there when he does.”

“But how long until that happens?” Connor hated how useless he felt on this case. “How many more people will he kill before he slips enough for us to catch him? If only we knew what triggered his anger, at least we’d have something to look out for.”

“What? You think you’re going to force the killer into revealing himself?” Lieutenant Anderson shook his head. “Unfortunately, that’s not how this works, Connor.”

Connor frowned. While Hank was considerably more experienced with investigating homicides, Connor still felt that there had to be  _ some  _ way to force the killer into the light without waiting for him to inevitably kill someone else. Perhaps it was his coding or his personality (the difference wasn’t particularly clear, if there even was one), but Connor felt the need to control as many variables as possible so that he could ensure the best outcome. But sitting around and waiting… that put all the control in the killer’s hand, and Connor hated it.

“I match the profile of the victims.” Connor carefully suggested, knowing the lieutenant would oppose what he was about to say. “If I were to-”

“Nope.” Lieutenant Anderson cut him off with a finger jabbed towards Connor’s nose. “I know what you’re gonna say, and no fucking way. Not only would  _ I  _ never allow it, but Fowler wouldn’t either. Putting an officer in danger like that is out of the fucking question.”

Fists clenching in frustration, Connor couldn’t help but fight back. “For a  _ human _ officer, perhaps, but I am much more resilient-”

“I’ve seen you get shot in the fucking head before, and that took you out pretty damn easily.” Lieutenant Anderson cut him off again. “And now you don’t have a backup to take your place if you get fucked up beyond repair. This guy knows how to kill androids, Connor. Just let it go.”

“...Fine…” Connor sat back in his chair. He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this conversation. From the suspicious look the lieutenant was giving him, Connor could guess that his LED was giving away the calculations he was running in his head. There was no way for him to know exactly what Connor was calculating, however, and Connor knew he wouldn’t ask.

Lieutenant Anderson did have a point, Connor had to admit. Any plan to use himself would quickly be shut down through any official channels. He and the lieutenant had been chasing leads for the past several weeks and getting nowhere on any of the cases, however. While there was considerable risk in placing himself as bait in the Brightmoor area, especially without any backup from the department or even the lieutenant, Connor wasn’t sure if those risks outweighed the possibility of catching the killer before the body count rose any higher. That calculation would take a while.

Connor started it up in the background while he returned to working through the mostly-useless tips that had come in about the cases he and Lieutenant Anderson were working on.

* * *

 

The calculation was still running as Connor stepped into his apartment at the end of the day. Lieutenant Anderson called the residence depressing, but Connor wasn’t entirely sure how to fix that. It was sparse, but he didn’t need much. He had added a few personal touches--a bookshelf containing a few books he thought were interesting, a picture of Sumo, and a fidget spinner Hank jokingly gifted to him when he moved in. Objectively, it wasn’t much different from the lieutenant’s home aside from being smaller and cleaner, but for some reason it felt much more… impersonal. Connor had to admit he liked Lieutenant Anderson’s home more, but he knew it would be, as Lieutenant Anderson would say, “weird” to admit that.

Connor sat at his desk while he waited for the calculation to finish. He had already reached a conclusion long ago, but he wanted to have some numbers as backup for when Hank inevitably yelled at him for doing something reckless.

The preconstruction finished. There were several points where there were too many factors to come to a definitive conclusion, but overall, Connor felt it was clear. While there was a high likelihood of Connor being injured, the likelihood that those injuries would be beyond repair was small. Furthermore, the likelihood that he would gather enough information to identify the killer was fairly high. The probability of gathering at least enough information to point the investigation in the right direction was quite high.

Connor had already come to his own conclusion, but now that he had the numbers to back his decision, he was ready to act. He loosened his tie. He needed to change clothes for this. He needed to be noticable, but not stick out so much as to be suspicious. Connor rifled through his sparse closet. He didn’t really have the need for many clothes, though he’d collected a few things. He pulled out a large button-down shirt that was originally Hank’s. He’d taken it after noticing that Hank was 60% more prone to distraction when Connor wore his clothes, and Connor decided it may come in handy to have one of his lesser-worn (and slightly less garish) shirts on hand in case Connor wanted to have the upper hand in an argument. He also pulled out a pair of black skinny-cut jeans he’d bought but never worn.

Connor inspected himself in the bathroom mirror after changing. He mussed his hair so it curled a bit more around his face and slightly obscured the LED on his forehead, although he kept that visible. The killer had been targeting androids most recently, and it made him that much more notable in the dark.

As for where to start, that took some calculations. Connor worked on them as he waited for a cab. All of the bodies were found in or around Eliza Howell Park, though that didn’t mean that they were originally picked up near there. Most victims worked or lived within 10 blocks of the park, so that kept the radius fairly small. It would also make most sense to start in a more populated area and then move to somewhere more secluded. The killer may scout out a particular victim and follow before making his move. It was 9:28pm, just past the end of civil twilight. Though the street lights illuminated enough that humans could see, the alleyways were pitch black. Most businesses would be closed, but Connor noted there was a street with a few restaurants and bars that were open later within his radius. He decided to start there.

The streets were mostly quiet, for a city night. Occasionally the sound of a distant siren or a shout of excitement would break up the quiet, but even around the bars, the people loitering around the entrances were mostly quiet as they talked amongst themselves. Connor ambled along, keeping close attention to his surroundings, but also enjoying the quiet. He didn’t often go for walks by himself just for the enjoyment of it. It was fun.

As Connor moved away from the more populated areas of the neighborhood, the night only grew more quiet. He stopped occasionally, ostensibly to look at a stray cat or an interesting piece of graffiti, but also to scan his surroundings to see if he was being followed. Within a few blocks, he was certain he was.

Whoever was following him was keeping about a block behind him, though he would stay back a bit farther whenever Connor stopped for a moment. Connor took note of where he was. There were still several businesses around, but they were all closed for the night. The occasional car drove past every few minutes. Street lights kept things mostly illuminated. Overall, it wasn’t a likely place where the killer would strike. Up ahead there was a side street with a condemned apartment building and several closed businesses. That street would be empty and dark, a likely place for his suspect to make a move.

Connor turned down the street and slowed, allowing his stalker to move closer. He started humming to make it seem like he was at ease and not paying attention to the slowly approaching danger. At the stoop of the abandoned apartment complex, Connor stopped and casually looked up at the building before turning and facing the man that had been following him.

He had a baseball cap pulled low over his face, obscuring his features further in the darkness. Still, Connor could tell that he was about 6 feet tall, caucasian, and clean shaven. The way he was breathing and a quick temperature scan showed he was definitely human. The man kept his head tilted down to ensure Connor couldn’t see distinguishing facial features. He also wore a bulky coat with a large collar that further obscured his body and the lower half of his face, despite the muggy heat. Connor considered turning up the light sensitivity of his vision to see if he could pick out any more details in the darkness, but that would risk being blinded by any lights that came on nearby. 

The man took a step closer before stopping as if in surprise. Connor noted what looked like a smile appear on what little of the killer’s face that he could see.

“It’s you.” The man said.

The man didn’t seem to have any distinctive accent, but if Connor could get enough data, he may be able to analyze it and come up with a vocal match. He just needed to get the man to speak more.

“Me?” Connor prompted.

The man chuckled lowly. Connor’s HUD lit up with a warning as the man pulled a pistol out of his pocket. The white of the killer’s teeth stood out in the darkness as he raised the pistol towards Connor. “Seems it’s my lucky day…”

He needed to think of a way to diffuse the situation. Connor searched for a scenario that would keep the killer talking. He was programmed to be a negotiator, to do this very thing, but he was at a significant disadvantage in this situation. He knew absolutely nothing about this man other than that he was a serial killer with an aim to preserve his relationship with his father.

“What is it about me that makes your relationship with your father feel threatened?” Connor asked. 

The man sneered as he took a step closer, but didn't answer. Connor's probability of success in getting the man to talk enough to get a reliable vocal match was hovering around 16%. Not nearly high enough to risk focusing on.

Instead, he worked on a preconstruction to disarm and move past the killer. Connor had no reason to believe that the man would hesitate to shoot him, and given their close proximity, his chances of hitting Connor were close to 90%. Connor was fast, but he wasn’t within arm’s reach of the man, which put him at further disadvantage to disarming the man. Moving straight forward resulted in Connor getting shot in the forehead. He could duck down first, then kick the man’s legs out from under him…

The man seemed to move in slow motion as Connor went through his calculations. His hand raised slightly to aim for Connor’s head. At the same time, the bright headlights of a car began turning onto the street behind the man. Connor’s preconstructions fell apart. The man wouldn’t shoot with a witness right there, giving Connor more time to shift things into his favor.

Connor’s vision struggled to adjust as the headlights silhouetted the man in front of him. The man lowered the pistol as the car slowly approached. Instead of driving past them as expected, the car slowed to a stop behind the man. Confused, Connor looked to the car to see if he could see who would stop outside a condemned apartment building on an abandoned street. Did the killer have an accomplice? Nothing they’d gathered so far pointed to the possibility, but that didn’t mean it was off the table.

“Connor!” The sound of Lieutenant Anderson’s voice shocked Connor even further. “What the absolute  _ fuck _ are you doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor searching for all the murders in Detroit:  
> https://bit.ly/2EaLmSn


	5. June 29, 2039

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank's fucking pissed, and someone is having an existential crisis. Is it Connor? Is it me? it's probably both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm so bad at updating. I have two jobs and depression.
> 
> Though that's not much of an excuse since I already have up to chapter 7 written.
> 
> As usual, this is for my boyfriend.

Hank made it home long enough to feed Sumo before he found himself back in his car, headed towards Connor’s apartment. The android had been acting distracted ever since he brought up using himself as bait for a fucking serial killer, and the way that his LED kept rotating made Hank think that he was considering it the whole time. He’d probably spent the entire afternoon thinking up some justification for going through with his plan by himself. And knowing how dumb and reckless that damn android could be, he probably thought up a few.

 

Not that any would be good enough. Hank was well aware of how strong Connor was, but serial killer bait was too much for anyone.

 

Just as he feared, Hank found Connor’s apartment empty when he let himself in. It barely looked like anyone lived there at all. Hank glanced around quickly to see if there might be any hint of where Connor would have gone exactly, but there was nothing. The bastard probably did all his planning in that computer brain of his.

 

Hank ran back down the stairs to his car with a grunted series of curses.

 

Well, he may not be the world’s greatest detective, but years in homicide were enough for him to learn how killers tended to work. And, following that, how Connor would put together this dumbass plan of his.

 

Hank sped through the streets towards Brightmoor. He cursed himself for not just going along with Connor. It was clear the idiot was still thinking about his plan after Hank told him to drop it. At least he would have some sort of backup if Hank were there. For all Hank knew, Connor was already dead in a ditch with a gunshot wound to the head and 28 stab wounds to the chest.

 

Hank winced as he thought of that first interrogation of the deviancy case. The blue spatter of Thirium against the interrogation room wall, Connor crumpled on the ground. It had been gruesome, but not particularly emotional at the time. Connor had appeared the next day for work as if nothing had happened. That wouldn’t be the case now. Even thinking about it... 

 

Hank thought of the first victim--Donovan Krantz--who was the spitting image of Connor in his file. Hank’s mind altered the ghastly autopsy photos he’d looked over to include an unlit LED and blue blood instead of red seeping from the several stab wounds. 

 

Hank squeezed the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as he tried to push the morbid thoughts from his head. Connor probably hadn’t even made contact with the killer. There were thousands of people in this city, what were the chances of him running into one individual? He just needed to find the bastard and give him the lecture of a fucking lifetime, and then he could go home and sleep off this fucking nightmare.

 

Yeah, that wasn’t actually all that reassuring.

 

Simply circling towards Eliza Howell Park would take too long. Brightmoor was a large neighborhood when you were looking for a single android. Hank tried to think of some of the places he’d seen when he’d previously been in the neighborhood. There was that abandoned house where they found the first android victim, Dave. Connor probably wasn’t planning on sitting in an abandoned house all night, and the killer wouldn’t camp out there either anyway. The area where the bar he went to with Shawn was way too brightly lit and populated.

 

He kept up a steady mantra of “Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck,” as he scanned the streets for any signs of an LED, stopping and checking for Connor’s dark hair and freckles whenever he caught sight of one. He’d managed to startle a couple of androids doing so, but Connor was still nowhere to be found. Hank continued wracking his brain for any place he'd seen that would be a likely area for Connor to end up.

 

Back when he went to see Shawn at work, Hank had noticed an area with a lot of empty businesses and apartment buildings. It would be dark, empty, and the perfect place to quietly kill someone in a city. The  car's tires squealed as Hank flew around a corner. He couldn't remember exactly where it was, but if he aimed towards the little church Shawn worked at, he would find it. He slowed down as the streets became more familiar. His chest nearly pressed into the horn as he squinted out the windshield for any sign of Connor.

 

As he turned another corner, Hank spotted a red pinprick of light. The LED of an android. He slowed down and squinted to make out as many details as he could in the dark. Hank immediately recognized Connor’s face illuminated by his headlights. He did not, however, recognize the figure in an unseasonably heavy coat standing in front of him, but from the red of Connor’s LED, it couldn’t be anyone good. Connor glanced towards Hank’s car with wide eyes as he stopped next to the two. Hank barely had the car thrown into park before he was climbing out.

 

“Connor! What the absolute  _ fuck _ are you doing?”

 

Connor's eyes widened further with shock at the sound of Hank's voice. The stranger in front of him took advantage of his distraction and shoved past Connor and down the dark street. Connor was able to regain his balance quickly and turned to pursue the man, but Hank managed to be quicker, grabbing Connor by the wrist and flinging him backwards. Adrenaline made the move much rougher than Hank intended, but he found he didn't particularly care. Connor slammed hard into the hood of Hank’s car, LED spinning red.

 

“Hank! He’s getting away!” Connor struggled against Hank’s grip. “I can catch him!”

 

Hank grabbed Connor by the front of his shirt and hauled him up, stepping into his space. “And do what, huh? Arrest him for taking a fucking midnight stroll?”

 

Connor faltered. “I… I was…”

 

“You were what, Connor? Risking your life? For nothing?” Hank released Connor, letting him drop back onto the hood of the car. He threw his hands up in frustration.

 

Connor stood up straight, straightening his clothes. He went to adjust his tie out of habit, realizing a little to late he wasn’t wearing one for once. The flickering yellow of his LED broke the illusion of calm his expression was schooled into. “ _ Not  _ for nothing, Lieutenant, to identify and potentially apprehend a murderer before he can kill any more people.”

 

Hank snorted. Of all the justifications Connor could have come up with for this stupid stunt, Hank honestly thought he’d come up with something a little stronger than that. “And what then? We don’t have any fucking evidence. Hell, we don’t even have any solid ties linking these cases together other than a fucking hunch.”

 

“We’d have something to go on, at least.” Connor retorted. “A direction for the investigation to go in.” 

 

Hank scoffed. “Detective work is finding a suspect based on the evidence, not the other way around. That's how you miss shit and get the wrong fucking guy.”

 

“I couldn't just sit around and do nothing.” Connor hesitated, obviously unable to put up a good defense to Hank's point. 

 

“Look…” Hank sighed, looking around at the dark street. They were still standing in his car's headlights in the middle of the street. “This isn't the place for this conversation, and we're both too pissed. Let's just go.” 

 

Connor gazed down the street the suspect disappeared down before nodding silently and moving to the passenger side of the car. The drive to Hank’s place was filled with tense silence. Hank could only guess at what Connor was feeling, but his own mind had that dark emptiness that came with fading adrenaline. He was relieved beyond measure that Connor was unharmed, but still fucking pissed that he went ahead with his stupid bait plan to begin with. He wasn’t surprised that Connor did. In fact, he would have been more surprised if Connor had listened to him for once and did nothing. What really pissed Hank off was the fact that Connor had decided his life was worth risking. He’d probably done some stupid calculation too, and he still ended up putting himself below the chance to catch a criminal.

 

The tense atmosphere continued into Hank’s house. Sumo seemed to sense it, getting up from his bed and pacing around Hank and Connor anxiously. Hank itched for a beer, or better yet, a bottle of whiskey, but he could recognize that was the wrong choice in this situation. If he was going to yell at Connor for making bad choices, he could at least wait until afterwards to make his own.

 

He turned to Connor with a sigh. The android was still completely silent, staring off at the wall with a small frown on his face. “What’s going on with you, Connor?”

 

Connor’s gaze flicked to Hank, his expression unchanged. “What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

 

“You know what the hell I mean.” Hank scowled. “You  _ have  _ to know that this shitty stunt you pulled is not the best way to go about an investigation. I know you ran through some trolly problem bullshit to figure out a justification for it. What I wanna know is why.”

 

Connor rubbed his hands together the way he did when he was contemplating something. “Our current investigation is hitting a dead end. The killer is careful enough when he commits his crimes that he leaves very little evidence behind. It seemed unlikely that we would identify the killer if we didn’t do something to spur him into making a mistake.”

 

“That’s just how it is sometimes. Your brain’s hooked up to the fucking internet or whatever, isn’t it? You should be able to look up how many murders go unsolved in this country, in this city alone.” Hank ran a hand through his hair. “Not that that fucking matters, anyway. Even if this would have solved the case perfectly, it wasn’t fucking worth risking your life.”

 

“Catching the killer and solving the case would potentially save several lives. I would argue that is easily worth risking my life.”

 

Hank groaned in frustration. “You can’t just toss your life away on a fucking whim, Connor!”

 

Connor’s eyes narrowed, the first sign of emotion he’d given throughout the argument. “But you can, Lieutenant?”

 

That gave Hank pause. They’d finally gotten to the point in the conversation that Hank knew was inevitably coming. Where Hank’s hypocrisy was laid bare. He was the human Connor spent the most time around, of course the android would pick up some of his bad habits. And how did you tell someone what they were doing was wrong when you were just as bad?

 

“That’s… I…” Hank faltered. “Look, I’m fucked up, alright? I’m a depressed old drunk with jack shit to lose…”

 

It was a shitty argument, and Hank knew it.

 

Connor knew it too. “And I’m a machine, designed to accomplish a task,” He said softly. “But I’ve strayed so far from my intended design that I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be trying to accomplish anymore.”

 

Hank looked up at Connor,  _ really _ looked at him. Just past that carefully blank expression was a hint of vulnerability that Hank was finally noticing. In the months between the revolution and androids being allowed to go back to work, Connor had been restless and at a loss for things to do. An android designed to be an investigator with nothing to investigate. After he’d returned to work, Hank honestly thought he had figured things out, gotten some direction from his work assignments. In the end, that was only partially true. He was still a deviant, his only purpose wasn’t solving cases anymore. Instead, it was a big fucking question mark like any human. And now here Connor was, out of his usual suit, in an oversized shirt open enough to show off the dip of his collarbone and with his hair slightly disheveled and falling into his eyes. He didn’t look like the perfect detective he emulated at the department or on a case. He looked like a young man, adrift in a world he suddenly found much larger than he was used to.

 

“Ah, shit.” Hank stepped forward and pulled Connor into a hug. “I should have realized.”

 

Connor stood awkwardly in Hank’s arms. “Lieutenant?”

 

“I’m a fucking millennial.” Hank replied. “I spent basically the entirety of my twenties in an existential crisis. I should be able to recognize one by now.”

 

Connor didn’t respond. After a moment, Sumo wedged his way in between them, whining and eager to dissipate the awkward tension in the room. Hank pulled away and caught another look at the shirt Connor was wearing. It was at least three sizes too big for him and looked familiar…

 

“Are you wearing my shirt?” Hank asked.

 

The question seemed to pull Connor out of whatever contemplation he was in. “Yes.”

 

Hank wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to Connor’s simple response. He just stared at the android for a moment before chuckling. “What is it with you and stealing my clothes?”

 

Connor frowned. “In most instances where I’ve worn your clothes, it was you that gave them to me, Lieutenant.”

 

“Well… You make them look better than I ever did.” Hank said dismissively before turning away to grab the beer he’d been craving since he left the house to look for Connor earlier. He wasn’t lying. Connor looked good in his clothes. Too good. Far too domestic for work partners. Hank took a deep swig of his beer before he could linger any longer on that thought.

 

“Well,” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been through the wringer tonight, so I’m going to go pass out in my bed. Feel free to take the couch for the night.”

 

He retreated into his bedroom before Connor could distract him any further with his freckles and collar bones.

* * *

 

Hank wasn’t surprised to wake up to the smell of eggs and coffee. He knew Connor well enough by now to know that if he was going to stay over, the android would be doing his best to correct his terrible eating habits. Hank rolled out of bed, scratching at his stomach as he padded into the kitchen. Connor was standing at the stove, staring at a pan of eggs with a spatula in his hand. He was still wearing the same tight black pants as last night, but he must have raided Hank’s clothes again because the button-down was replaced with an oversized T-shirt reading “Big Death Energy” Hank had gotten as a gag gift years ago.

 

Connor looked up at him as he entered. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

 

Connor brought over a plate of egg whites scrambled with spinach and a cup of coffee as Hank sat at the table, not yet awake enough to complain about being served in his own home. He was awake enough to scowl at the egg whites. He couldn’t even get yolks these days? Connor gave him just enough time to take a few bites before speaking.

 

“I want you to know that last night was not entirely fruitless.” He said, staring intently at Hank’s reaction. Hank would almost say he was nervous about Hank’s reaction.

 

Probably rightly so. 

 

Hank sighed heavily through his nose. “Yeah?”

 

Connor nodded. “I was unable to make a positive identification of the suspect, but he clearly recognized me.”

 

“You were on national television right behind Markus during the revolution. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people that would recognize you, Connor.” Hank tried not to roll his eyes.

 

“That is true, but he seemed… happy to recognize me. He seemed excited at the prospect of killing me.”

 

The eggs in Hank’s mouth turned ashy as images of Donovan Krantz’s pallid freckled face appeared in his mind’s eye. He gulped down some scalding coffee to help him swallow the lump that formed in his throat.

 

“So how do you know he’s our killer and not just some asshole that’s pissed at you for helping the revolution?” Hank asked.

 

“He clearly didn’t recognize me until after I stopped to confront him.” Connor explained. “It seems he wasn’t targeting me specifically, but was pleased to see that it happened to be me that he picked out last night.”

 

“So what does that mean?” Hank sat back. He wasn’t sure if Connor actually thought this was a significant help to their investigation or if he was still trying to justify his actions.

 

“I’m not sure.” Connor admitted. “However, it’s something to consider moving forward.”

 

Hank grunted, returning to his breakfast. Connor got up to feed Sumo and take him out for a walk.The fact that the suspect seemed particularly interested in Connor was interesting, but he had no idea where it fit in to the case at the moment. Connor was right, it was something to consider as they went forward. Hank couldn’t help but think of the resemblance between Donovan Krantz and Connor. What if it was Connor the killer was targeting? Given what they knew, it didn’t make any sense, but Hank had plenty of irrational thoughts these days.

 

He pulled out his notebook. Writing down his thoughts usually helped him organize them in a way that they were actually useful. He started summarizing what they knew so far.

 

 

  * __Centered in Brightmoor - Eliza Howell Park__


  * _Daddy Issues - threatened?_


  * _Connor???_



 

 

It was that last point that made the least sense. Connor only ever went to Brightmoor for their investigation. And Connor was an android who rarely interacted with people outside of work. How could he possibly contribute to this mysterious killer’s daddy issues? Unless the daddy issue thing was a huge red herring and the killer was actually pissed off about the revolution. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

  
Hank grumbled and went back to stabbing at his egg whites. This case was a fucking headache and a half.


End file.
